Under these Alternian Moons
by Liacat
Summary: A story switching between the Condesce's and the Disciple's point of view, starting from where the Disciple stumbles across the wounded Signless in her forest and decides to care for him, while on the other end of the world, the mentally-depleting Condesce searches for the missing mutant.
1. Stranger

You wake up to the moonlight shining through the mouth of your cave.

You stretch, arching your back and yawning, your mouth wide and your fangs protruding cruelly from your gums. But when you blink your olive eyes, they are kind and thoughtful. Your thick black hair is snarled and tangled. Your face is angular and hard, weathered by your time outside. Muscles ripple underneath your skin, corded and balanced. You're quite proud of your muscles, which are a necessity in the wild. In the flickering coals, your gray skin shines, scars crossing every surface of your uncovered flesh. Furs and pelts of all sorts of animals are draped across your wiry body, shielding you from the cold and the light of multiple suns that sometimes comes through the mouth of the cave.

You soon turn to your unfinished meal from the night before, a half eaten carcass carelessly tossed on the floor. Kneeling, you rip a chunk of flesh off, swallowing. A good hunt indeed, you think as you lick the blood off of your lips.

As the moon rises higher in the Alternian sky, you creep out of your cave, glancing upwards. You live by yourself, hunting food, gathering supplies for trade. You are a **KEEPER OF THE WILDS**, along with others of your olive hemospectrum. Your blood provides immunities to diseases, helps digest raw food better, and allows you incredible speed and strength for one of such a lower caste. Centuries and centuries ago, the wild forests and mountains of Alternia had been given to you and the other olive bloods to guard and roam. Nowadays, you gather herbs, animals, furs, gems from the mountains and other exotic wares and sell them at markets in far off towns, or trade with the other merchants. Most of the time, the olive blooded trolls live together in clans and move with the seasons, but some choose to remain alone.

You are a young troll, only about 8 sweeps old. But the wild has hardened and trained you and you are an able fighter and one of the best hunters of your caste level – of any caste level, really. Your people hide you from the world, from the evil Empresses. But it has never even really felt like a burden to live there. You love the trees and animals, and you wouldn't want to leave for anything. But deep down, you feel... Incomplete? Unfinished? Lonely? You don't know. Sitting there, staring at the giant moon in the sky, you wonder. Inside you, you feel that your life isn't where it is supposed to be. Something is missing, something you long for with a hard, painful ache deep in your chest, but you don't even know what it is you miss.

Restless, you shift the skins on your back and leap lightly from the opening of your cave. You pounce lightly from rock to rock, stopping once to glance at your Lusus at the foot of the cave. She raises her head, blinking her white eyes at you briefly and purring, two deep, rumbling vibrations that immediately make you feel a little better. You lean close, pushing your face into her fur and breathing deeply. You croon a bit, and then scramble away off into the forest at the foot of your cave.

Once inside, you run, quietly and swiftly. This is your territory, and you love the wilds. When you run past trees and fronds of plants, you brush your hands against them. You stop to pick the fruit off of trees, tasting the ambrosia and nectar of your home. You pause once to sip the cold, sweet, clean spring water that runs and trickles through the trees, exotic flowers growing on the banks. Lazily, you bat at a few fish that swim past, but you have no hunger and so you let them wriggle on, when suddenly you hear a sound!

You stop, your head snapping up and your cat eyes dilating. Twisting your head back and forth, you try to detect the sound, which isn't very difficult.

Someone is blundering through your forest, cursing lowly underneath their breath. You can hear their ragged breathing, and the metallic taste of blood wafts through the brush. You wrinkle your nose, trying to find the color of it, but it is a color you have never tasted or smelled before. If anything, it had to be similar to the animals you hunt... But that can't be right. It is definitely a troll heading towards you.

You slide back into the trees, following the sounds. It doesn't take you long to find the source. You stop, your green eyes unblinking as you observe.

It is a male troll. He is taller than you, but how difficult is that? His black hair is curly and clings to his sweaty and clammy face. His features are strong and sharp, but currently furrow in pain and agony. He somehow looks up into your eyes, even though you are hidden behind a tree. His eyes are a bright, bright red, a red unlike anything you have ever seen before. And when you glance down, you see the same color of brilliant red blood staining his heavy cloak and hands, falling to the forest floor.

"Help me..." he rasps before slumping to the ground.

You stare at his body for a bit, paralyzed. Then he coughs up more of that strange, red blood. It spurts out of his mouth, splattering against the ground. You jump, the red liquid shining in the moonlight.

_ What am I doing? _You think, distressed. _He needs help! _With a swift movement, you pick him up, slinging him over you shoulder. He isn't that heavy, really, but his blood flows out, scattering across the ground.

That needs to be fixed.

You take him to the stream, laying him down gently. Softly, you take his cloak off, ripping it into long shreds. Then you identify the wound. There are several; some are gashes and some are slices and some are punctures. You let out a distressed hiss, peeling off his clothes to reveal sculpted muscles and scars. You use the leftover scraps of the cloak and dip them in the stream, washing away the blood on his skin. With each touch, his body flinches and he gasps, pain wrenching throughout him. You bite your lip, carefully tying the bandages made from the cloak. As soon as you are done, you pick him back up and splash upstream, his blood flow staunched and your smell erased by the lively water.

You reach your cave soon, stopping by your Lusus. You let her know that she should tell you if anyone comes by. Lazily, she blinks her eyes.

Once inside, you set the troll down by the dying coals and wait for him to wake up.


	2. Royalty

_You are swimming, swimming as fast as you can. Your gills gush, flapping in vain to suck in more oxygen from the sea around you, but it is no use. The other seadwellers' Lusii strapped over your shoulder and dragging behind you slow you down, and you swim even harder, desperation making you gag._

_ Your Lusus waits for you in the deep, her hunger rumbling the ocean floor, her whispers becoming menacingly loud. _

_ "Just... Wait..." you gasp, bubbles streaming away from your mouth._

_ Your Lusus opens her mouth, her scream blasting away everything._

* * *

You awake with a start, gasping. Quickly, you check around you, listening for the quiet murmur of Gl'bgolyb. It takes no time at all for the whisper to reach you.

Good. She is content, and so everyone is safe.

Slowly, wincing, you sit up. It is hard for you not to be underneath the water. The air up on the drylands just doesn't taste the same. It makes your throat scratchy, and sometimes it stings going in. The air is clotted, rotting with the filth and sludge of land dwellers. Not even your precious oceans have escaped that.

You will eventually make them all pay the ultimate price:

Culling.

"Majesty?" you hear. You twitch your ears, pinpointing the source.

"Ah," you say, smoothing your voice over. You have to sound regal. _Play the part, _you tell yourself. _You must be dignified and fear-inspiring. _"I'm sorry to be so predisposed. I was thinking." You turn to see your right hand man: the Subjugglator.

He puts out a threatening aura just by standing there in your doorway. Half crazed with mad desires and twisted fantasies, he is utterly uncontrollable. Speaking to him is like talking to a wall: frustrating and it gets you nowhere. But you would much rather speak to a wall. You may be the Empress of Alternia, but still. He terrifies you. He is unpredictable, and while you seem to be on good terms, you are always aware of where he is and what he is doing at all times.

"Yes, Majesty." he gravels. Even his voice makes you want to tremble.

You sigh, forcing down your stupid fear. "What is it that you want? I haven't got all day you know."

"Well, it's a fucking miracle," he grins, flashing his white, glossy fangs. You try not to flinch. "But we have just up and lost the mutant."

_"What?" _that isn't news you want to hear. "You _lost _him?"

Your gills flare as you stand up, biting your lip fiercely. While you may not be tall, you know that you are still a sight to behold. Power crackles off of your skin, flaring bright and iridescent colors, your trident writhing in your hands. Your hair billows around you, reaching in feathery tendrils for the Subbjuglator. The Highblood's grin turns into a snarl, his purple eyes narrow dangerously. Like a trapped animal's.

"All I do is offer you a simple task! One teeny, tiny simple task!" you yell. "And you _lose _him? Like a – like a small _child_!" the Subjugglator says nothing, but his purple eyes stare into yours. Slowly you calm down, and then sit back on your bed..

"I see..." you mutter. "I apologize for my outburst. It was most... Unbecoming." you smile sweetly, but bare your razor sharp fangs for effect. The Subjugglator stonily stares back at you, his face unreadable. That face always makes you feel uncomfortably vulnerable. "Perhaps this can... benefit us." you murmur, stroking your chin.

"Majesty?" growls the Subjugglator, his muscles shifting. You almost flinch, but steel yourself. _Weakness in the face of an enemy is an opening. _Never _show weakness. _

"The trolls look up to him as a hero. He has only gathered a few followers, but they are faithful." softly, you stroke your trident, power humming in your arms, you veins, threading throughout your entire being. Sometimes it intoxicates you as you drift to sleep, whispers from your Lusus a gentle lullabye. "And as he gains more, he will become more of a legend."

"EXCUSE ME, my most HIGH and mighty, uppity MAJESTY, but how is this mother fucking plan _GOOD_?" snaps the High Blood. You merely smile, your fuchsia fish eyes glinting.

"When he falls, he will fall for good. No one will believe in him anymore. What good is a dead leader?" you ask. The Grand Highblood stares back at you, his indigo eyes unreadable. You continue. "That would force others to come out and admit to their rebellion. But who wants to die? No one else is foolish enough to insight my wrath." sparks flicker along your skin, dancing and licking your face and hair. Slowly, you begin to laugh, a bitter and sarcastic laugh that hasn't seen much humor in its days. Then you stop suddenly, your face composing itself back into its usual, superior expression. "Find him. Immediately. Watch him for the time being, and control his movement. But don't hinder him. I want him to grow, to nourish this desolate world before I control it again."

Yes. Your planet has fallen. When you had taken it, it had been a sickly creature. Your care hindered by the council had managed to ween it back from death, but it is still brittle. Perhaps the mutant can give it kindness and strength where you could not. And then, when it is blooming and fresh... Well, it won't need a nanny forever.

The Highblood bows, his expression unusually sober. "Whatever you wish, your majesty," he growls.

* * *

After the Highblood leaves, you sigh, letting out your tension. "I hake him," you mutter. "I wish I could just cull him and have it over with."

Slowly, the nervous power leaks out of you, dissipating into the air with sparks and crackles. You groan, your muscles aching. You wish you could be underwater, where you can breath much more freely.

Everything had been simpler a few sweeps ago. Then the previous Empress had died mysteriously. At the age of just 6 sweeps, you had been given the throne. You are now 8 and a half sweeps old. Since your coronation, you have had plans to expand your race, to scatter them across the stars you used to admire from under the sea. Your teachers always told you that you were beyond your years, that you were intelligent and cunning, ruthless. You took them as compliments. Once you received the throne, it all became so clear. You are meant to bring the universe together, to unite everyone and everything. So far, the universe is open to your taking. There are so _many_ planets out there. You haven't gained control of them yet, but give you time and you will _rule _like the Empress you are meant to be.

But still. Your life was easier when it was just you in the sea, and the old Empress had to deal with the trolls' problems.

_ Good riddance, _you think. _She was a soft and weak Empress. _

You stand there for a few moments, not thinking, not feeling. Then you turn to your map, a map of all of Alternia, of your empire. Your _current _empire.

"Where are you, you troublesome little mutant?"

* * *

**A/N: Part two. I really, really, REALLY love the Condesce. Patron troll ancestor ftw. ****Anyways... It'll switch back and forth between them like this. I want to work with both stories. Uh. Yeah. Thanks for reading!**

**Edit: going through and cleaning stuff up. Ruh. Also, thanks for the reviews!**


	3. Acquaintanceship

You watch him, your green eyes staring.

He has been sleeping for two days now. At first, you hadn't been worried. You knew he would wake up. But by sunrise yesterday, you began to feel anxious. His wounds are healing just fine, and you change the bandages every few hours, putting poultices you have made yourself on them. They are going to leave scars, but so far, nothing is infected. And you don't think he will mind the scars. He has plenty already.

You turn back to the fire, stirring the soup. While you can eat and digest raw meat, you have heard of outsider trolls who can not. You pity them; how can they enjoy the full flavour of the meat, the taste of the wild? And cooking it seems like such a waste. But still... You glance at your guest.

You want him to be happy when he awakes.

As you stir the stew, you think about how he could have stumbled into your forest. Perhaps other trolls had been chasing him? Or a dare? You have always been prone to fantasies and dreams. It gives you something to do out here in the wild when you aren't busy surviving. You love dreaming of the creatures that can roam the land, of the battles that can be fought. And of love. You have no idea what it is, or what it feels like, but you have heard whispers of it from others, that it is a magical and wonderful thing. And that it could also be horrible and painful.

You want to know about it.

Your quadrants are empty. Ostracising yourself from the rest of the trolls made sure of that. It has never bothered you before. But as you gaze at the strange blooded troll, you wonder if he can possibly fill one of them. Then you laugh, your cheeks flushing green. Impossible! How fanciful of you to even think of such a preposterous thought.

He stirs, moaning, surprising you. You leap back, hair rising along your neck and a hiss escaping from your fanged mouth. The troll on the ground groans again, raising his arm to rub his head.

"Ugh," he mutters. "My head."

You merely stare, wondering what you should do. Slowly, the other troll stops rubbing his head and opens his eyes. And then they widen, gazing about the room – the furs on your cave wall, the bundles of herbs drying, the hand prints and the drawings painted in animals' blood, the fire and finally your face. As soon as his red eyes meet yours, you flinch, surprised yet again at the vibrant colour. You stare at each other for several long moments, the silence loud between you.

"Did you help me?" he asks eventually, his voice cracking. The strange words take you a few minutes to translate in your head. You have no need of spoken speech, but the traders of your blood level had taught you.

You nod, drawing your furs closer and shifting back.

"Thank you," he rasps, his face sincere and honest. "Thank you very much."

You shrug, wondering what you're supposed to do. Then the smell of the food cooking attracts your attention, and you gesture toward the pot over the coals, searching for the words.

"Food," you say slowly. "Eat?"

His eyes widen, and he seems surprised by your speech. Then he nods vigorously. "Yes, if I may," he murmurs.

You bob your head in return, and then swiftly rifle through your things against the cave wall, searching. You pull out an old wooden bowl, the ancient lacquer finish still intact and the carvings on the side unharmed. You return, offering the bowl to him. He gasps, startling and amusing you.

"This is beautiful," he murmurs. "I thought the Empress had banned such artwork." he looks back up towards you, his eyes shining with unspoken words. You shiver, a warm feeling spreading within you. "Thank you," he says softly.

You retrieve an old wooden spoon, this one rough and unfinished, and serve some soup for him. Then you sit back and watch him eat hungrily, devouring it. He is ravenous.

When he finally finishes, he sits the bowl down, sighing and rubbing his stomach contentedly. "That was very good," he tells you. You shrug your shoulders, glancing away from his penetrating eyes. You sit in silence for several minutes until he clears his throat, making you wince.

"I am called the Teacher," he murmurs, still staring at you. He waits, and then continues. "Do you have a title?" he asks.

_Title? _You wonder. You have never needed one before. You don't even have a name. The olive bloods identify each other by scent and sight. Your scent is your name, your features, your very bearing the title you have. Not some word. You shake your head, and he seems surprised again.

"No title?" he asks. "Do you have a name?" another shake from your head. "No _name?" _he repeats, appalled. You roll your eyes at him, exasperated. Haven't you already told him that?

_"Yes,"_ you say impatiently. "No title, no name." shyly, you glance down, and then peer up at him from underneath your eyelashes. "No name," you repeat again, this time feeling a little sad.

"Hmm," says the Teacher. "Interesting. Perhaps I can find you one." he smiles kindly at you, and you feel that warm, tingly feeling again. You know your cheeks are flushing green right now.

"Nice," you murmur, touching his cloak softly. "Nice."

"Yes, well," he says gruffly, coughing. "It's the least I can do to repay you for saving my life."

"Yes," you repeat. "I save. You dead. Now, you not dead." you grin broadly, becoming more comfortable with speaking. All of your old lessons are coming back to you.

"You're right." the Teacher laughs, his mouth opening wide to expose his fangs and his red tongue. You are still marvelling at the glorious and beautiful colour, so much that you reach out to touch his face. He stops laughing, looking at you intently.

"What is it?" he asks. You put a finger to his lips, shushing him.

"Shh," you quip. He looks surprised. After being satisfied that he will not talk, you run your hands down his front, the muscles rippling underneath your fingers. "Strong," you whisper. "Good. Wild need strong." then you part the furs, glancing at the bandages underneath. You stare, unaware at the other troll's discomfort.

"Er," he starts. "I'm not really sure that -"

"Shh!" you hiss. "Looking." your eyes stare, unblinking. You see the pinkish stain in the bandages, the red blood seeping through. You click your tongue, unwrapping them.

"Hey, what are you doing -"

"Red," you say pointedly, glaring at him. "Blood coming. Better, but no stop." your words are coming more fluently, and you smile with pride. The Teacher merely groans, splaying his large hands to the side.

"I give up," he mutters. "I can't stop you."

"Good," you reply smugly. "I start?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not." he shrugs, averting his eyes towards the ceiling. "Please be careful. I'm ticklish..."

You have no idea what ticklish means, but it sounds unpleasant, but somewhat hilarious. You begin to unwrap his bandages, slowly and carefully. His arms are above his head, allowing you more access. Neither of you speak, but you can feel the tension in the Teacher's body, rigid and nervous. You try to think of something that will help ease him, and quietly you begin to sing.

It is a wordless song, one sung to you by another olive blood in a far off memory. Slightly haunting and full of infinite sweetness, the notes roll off of your tongue with surprising clarity and accuracy. The last bandage falls away as you begin another round, and you suddenly stop, staring.

His wounds are open again.

"Why..." you moan, watching the blood ooze out once more. "_Why?"_

"It's not your fault," the Teacher says, catching your hands. You flinch at how warm they are, sending little shivers up and down your body. Never before has someone touched you, their warmth affecting your own. Suddenly, you desperately miss everyone you have never met, trolls you have avoided. Did they, too, have this amazing, wonderful fire kindling in their bodies? This feeling of safety and... You can't describe it. It is warm and sweet and painful, all at the same time. It hurts you, but you find that you desperately want more. What have you missed out on?

You look up into his face, distraught. He smiles gently. "I have a very abnormal body. It'll heal, I promise. It just needs time."

"Time..." you whisper, glancing down at his wounds. You bite your lip, guilt swirling inside you, reaching acid tendrils into your stomach and face, hot and unpleasant. "Sorry," you breath.

"What?" for a moment, the other troll looks truly surprised. Then he fervently shakes his head. "No! No no no, it is _not _your fault!" tightly, he squeezes your hands. "In fact, I'm healing quite a bit faster thanks to your help."

You gaze up into his face. Was he lying? you wonder. Is he trying to make me feel better? The thought of someone doing that annoys you a bit; why would he cover up the truth? How stupid, you think. As if reading your thoughts, Teacher chucks you under the chin, as if you are a small wriggler.

"No, really," he says. "Trust me." his eyes implore you.

You can't resist. Lowering your eyes, you nod slowly, your face flushing hot.

"Good," he murmurs soothingly. He holds your hands for a few more warm, comfortable seconds before releasing them and sighing. "Perhaps you could sing more of that song while you rebandage me?" he asks gently.

You nod vigorously, eager to help. The melody flows off your lips as you set about the cave to find better supplies to bandage and clean his wounds with. As you sing and work, the Teacher watches you with red eyes, unreadable in the coals' light. Even when you finish mopping up his injuries, you continue to sing, moving on to other lullabies you have heard at one point or another, and the Teacher still continues to watch you. Eventually, when the suns had risen outside and your eyelids droop, he bids you to stop.

"Thank you," he says. "That was quite beautiful."

You flush, unused to praise. Unused to wanting praise, and pleasing.

The Teacher sighs heavily, gazing out to where the filtering sunlight streams in, its fiery touch unable to hurt both of you.

"My mother loves the sun," he says. You stare at him, so bewildered that it makes him laugh. "Yes, its true. And her eyesight it still as good as it was on her first wriggling day."

"Mother," you repeat, puzzled. You have never heard this word before. Maybe it is the name of his Lusus? What a funny name.

"Lusus?" she ask.

"Oh," he says airily. "I've never had a Lusus. They all rejected me."

You freeze, staring at him with disbelief. _Never had a Lusus? _Your mind yells. _Impossible! Outrageous!_ For a moment, you try to imagine life without yours, but you can't. Memories of gentle jaws carrying you and prickly tongue baths in the moonlight assail you. Who would have taught you to hunt and to know which plants healed and which didn't? You would have died without Pounce!

"But it's alright," the other troll's voice brings you back, and you blink at him, hoping your face doesn't betray the shock you feel. "The Dolorosa – that's her title, by the way – raised me. She was raised by a Mother Grub, you know." No. You didn't know that. But now you do. "She found me when I was just a little wriggler. My red blood scared everyone off. But not her." his eyes glaze over and he smiles, a sweet smile that nearly culls your heart right there. "She is a gifted healer. She might be able to help me."

What? You cock your head and stare.

"Would you help me get to her?" he asks, his eyes intently looking at you.

Help him? You stare, confused and feeling something akin to fear. Never before have you heard of the name 'Dolorosa.' That must mean that she isn't an olive blood, also meaning that she is no where in the forest or in the mountains, no where in the wilds of Alternia. And to find her will mean leaving these clear, snowy mountains and lush, breathing forests. You will have to leave everything you have ever known to help this stray troll, this – stranger! Bile fear rises up in your throat in an instant, choking you and strangling the breath away from your lungs. You stare at the other troll, stare at the blood drying slowly on the floor of the cave and your hands, his clothes.

But...

You remember how it had felt when he held your hands. Their warmth still lingers even now, like coals burning beneath her skin after a blazing fire. Suddenly, you know that he must be healed, and that you must help him. If this Dolorosa troll could fix him where you can not, then you will accompany him to this Dolorosa troll, no matter what. You will follow him, protecting him, helping him, guiding him. You have nothing else in your life, you realize quite suddenly with painful clarity. Nothing. What is the point of living alone in the middle of the woods surrounded by beauty and nature if there is no one else to share it with? And he will never make it out of the forest alone.

"Yes," you say faintly, fear still holding your vocal chords tight. You clear your throat, and try again. "Yes. I go. Help," and you reach out with your hands, smoothing hair away from his face, not really sure what you are doing. "For you."

The Teacher smiles, a smile so wide and pleasant that it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. You merely stare at him, the realization of what you have chosen sinking in.

"Thank you," he says hoarsely. And then he closes his eyes, slipping into a faint from loss of blood. Your hands remain against his face for a long time, heat pulsing through his curly hair and temples to your claws and fingers, your wrist and elbows, your shoulders and finally your face.

"For you," you repeat.

You know what has been missing from your life, what you have ached for for as long as you can remember. You finally have an image in your mind, a title.

_Teacher._

* * *

**A/N: Okay. Churned out another one! (Bloody hell.) I just read the greatest fanfiction ever, and it turned my creative cranker on. I'll be posting this to Archive of Our Own (once they give me an account at the end of this month durr hurr), with illustrations to boot! I've started on them. Thanks for reading. Review with what you think!**


	4. Plotting

You hate Royal consultation meetings more then anything. You hate them with a fiery passion, and you wish that you could just outlaw them, and decree that any stupid ruffled up high blood with a pension for these boring, stupid meetings would get culled immediately. That will show those pompous glub-holes, you think pleasantly. Those pompous glub-holes with a pike (ha! Another fish pun, chalk up one for you!) stuck up their -

"...ion, your most Imperial and Lascivious Condesce?"

You stare, realizing that you look like an idiot who hasn't been paying attention. In the chair to the left of you, the Grand Highblood laughs quietly under his breath, a horrible grin displayed underneath his garish make-up. On your other side is someone new, a royal seadweller, beneath you, of course. He, too, smirks, but he hides it behind a hand and the edge of his ridiculous cape. Every single courtier at the stupid meeting is looking at you, and every single one of them is smiling.

"We do not know," you snap eventually, trying to fight down the embarrassed flush that is creeping up on your face and neck. "Your words are too boring for us to listen to."

The speaker sighs. He is an older troll, somewhere on the indigo spectrum. You don't remember ever seeing him before. He wears a vest and rolled up his sleeves. He looks almost... ruffled. It annoys you a bit to think that he would dare look almost unpresentable in front of you.

"Yes, your majesty," he says. "We have just been discussing the recent development of new software and technologies and how we can use them in the Palaces." Quite suddenly, you are back on track, and interested, which is unusual.

"Oh, yes, I – we've heard of these new software! There's a new communicating one, and then some new ships, as well?" you say excitedly, almost forgetting to use the Royal plurals. The courtier in front of you looks surprised by your enthusiasm, and you feel the trolls on either side shaking with barely contained laughter. You pinch the High Blood under the table despite your intimidation of him, which causes him to bray with laughter. After glaring at him out of the corner of your eyes, you turn to snarl at the sea-dweller next to you.

"Shut up," you whisper fiercely.

The troll next to you straightens out his face, and then smiles benignly. His violet eyes are slanted slightly, fierce and calculating. His face, you notice with a slight rush of discomfort, is very handsome, with a square jaw and strong facial features, accented by the thick, curly spiked black hair that is smoothed back from his forehead; rough stubble dots his chin. Stretching across his face are two purplish scars. Through all of his good looks, he still has that awkward adolescent air about him, whether it is his gangliness or hands that seemed a little too large. If you have to guess, he has to be about your age.

On your other side, the Grand High Blood chortles, his own thin face turned to watch you. You settled back into your throne and clear your throat. "Yes, well, what have we decided?" you demand.

"Well, we were wondering if you would like to try out the communication software. Sir Dualscar is willing to communicate with you through his own device, if you desire, Majesty. Your handle names have been automatically set to your titles."

Dualscar? you wonder, and then glance out of the side of your eyes. Yes, of course. The seadweller next to you. He has two scars.

Well, aren't I just doing fintastically today, you think sourly.

"Yes, of course. He should be honoured to." You say airily. Immediately, a device is brought to you, and Dualscar reaches beside him and pulls out a similar device. With a sly smile on his face, he opens it up an began typing.

* * *

**- orphanerDualscar [OD] began trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 14:07! -**

**OD: do you remember me?**

**You lean back, slightly confused. Remember? What are you supposed to remember?**

**"Your majesty," gravels a familiar voice next to your fins. "You shouldn't all up and leave this poor brother waiting. You'd best reply the mother fucker."**

**"Yes, of course," you say distractedly to the Grand Highblood, forgetting for a moment to fear him.**

**IC: Remember? Water you talking atrout?**

**OD: you still havvent changed havve you**

**OD: same goddam stupid fishpuns**

**IC: )(ow rude! I could )(ave you CULL-ED for t)(at!**

**OD: but you cant because the fuckin council has you in control dont they an they wouldnt let that go for anthin**

**OD: unless things havve changed**

**You lean back, lacing your fingers together as you stare at him. He smirks playfully, but underneath you see the serious challenge in his eyes. Anger swirls within you. Yes, he is right. With this stupid Royal Council thing, you have absolutely no power. To do anything, it has to be approved by these stupid, low blooded trolls who don't understand a thing you are trying to do.**

**You glare at him.**

**IC: Delete everyt)(ing t)(at )(as been said )(ere.**

**OD: wwho do you think i am**

**- orphanerDulascar [OD] ceased trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 14:12! -**

* * *

You delete the logs and snap the top of the Husktop down, handing it away. "It'll do," you say. "We approve."

"Good, your majesty," says the courtier, relieved. "We will begin to legalize the selling them on the market this very afternoon. Yours is, of course, already in your chambers. Now, on to the case about these intergalactic ships..."

You listen carefully as he talks about ships being capable of traveling across the universe, and appreciate your people even more. Such trolls deserve a whole galaxy, several galaxies. Maybe even them all. But the Royal Council is far too afraid to allow you to do that. _What to do about them? _You wonder.

No answers come to you.

* * *

"Meeting adjourned," you hear, startling you out of your boredom. The sound of stuffy trolls rising from their chairs and stretching their cramped muscles are painfully loud to your newly awakened ears.

You glance up, hoping no one saw you space out. Quickly, you check for some stray drool and are mortified to see fuschia tinged saliva come away from your lips, coating your fingers. You glance side to side, and to your satisfaction conclude that no one saw. But as you turn to your left, you see the snide grin of the Grand Highblood, who begins to chuckle at your expression.

"Nice of you to MOTHER FUCKING appreciate what all these holy brothers and sisters up in this here joint are trying to do for you," he attempts to whisper as the last of the courtiers leave. You flush, looking down towards your feet.

"It was horribly boring," you snap back. "I nearly died."

"That would have been a miracle," he chuckles again, lowly, his voice rasping and grating. He sounds like he could crush skulls between his teeth and then floss them with the hair later, you think. You risk a peek and find him staring at you, his wide and terrifyingly indigo eyes boring into you.

"Water you brooking at?" you snap, your voice momentarily falling out of your royal accent and into your more oceanic loll. Quickly, you clap a hand over your mouth, embarrassed to be heard talking in such lowly sea talk. But the Grand Highblood doesn't care. He doesn't even seem to notice. All he says is, "Your most royal and pink majesty, why not let a brother walk you back to your sleeping chambers?"

You are puzzled at the sudden courtesy, but allow yourself to be escorted. Even stranger, as you walk, he subtly maneuvers you to walk between his huge, hulking body and the wall, the wide hallway open on his either side. You are beginning to freak out a little; what has come over this guy?

Finally, you reach your rooms. You try to open and shut the door as politely and quickly as you can, but the other troll grabs the top of the door tightly, looming over your petite frame. You swallow a squeak as he stares.

"Y-yes?" you say as imperiously as you can.

"Majesty," he murmurs lowly. You have to strain your fins to hear properly. "You'd best up and let me see your husktop right now."

"What?"

"Your FUCKING HUSKTOP. Or did I FUCKING STUTTER, your majesty?" his voice rises and falls, every loud tone making you jump before his smooth, low tones caress you to safety. And then he raises his voice again, making you jump more.

"Er, of course, let me get it –" you say, and then he barges into your room anyways. You groan inwardly. You really don't want to deal with his shenanigans right now. You see him grab your husktop and fiddle with it, slamming it to the ground a couple of times. Eventually, after throwing it into your soporbin, and after licking the remains off of the screen he hands it back to you gravely.

"I went and all privatized it, like a MOTHER FUCKING miracle." he says.

"What?"

"I made it mother fucking UNCRACKABLE and UNTRACEABLE. This little brosky laptop right here is your one MOTHER FUCKING MIRACLE TICKET FOR A REVOLUTION against this stupid council," he tells you. You gape, surprised he had picked up on this much. And then you notice the unusually sober glint in his eyes. You click your jaws shut.

"Thank you, I suppose," you say, not entirely sure about that is happening.

"No fucking problem, Emperecita," he says casually, tousling your hair.

You freeze.

No one – _NO ONE – _has ever touched your hair before.

You prepare yourself to run your trident through his sorry little gut, but you notice his casual smile, his eyes sleepily half closed, and you wonder what this troll has ever done to ever make you hate him or fear him. Nothing really. You always assumed that he was out to get you just because that was the way he came off. But... If he is willing to join your cause and help you, then you just might have made another ally in the palace.

"Whale you kelp me?" you ask, breathless. You slip back into your sea dweller accent, not even caring. His eyes lazily swivel to yours, and they blink once.

"What in this sweet jegus and all merciful messiah do you think I have been MOTHER FUCKING DOING, SISTER?" he snarls, grabbing your arms. You don't even bother to gasp. You know you can push him away if he tries to hurt you. "Of course I will help out a sister in need," he finally whispers, and he paps your face once, very carefully, as if afraid of breaking you. Which is completely ridiculous, of course. You're very strong and durable.

Then he bows lazily and leaves, his feet dragging across the floor.

* * *

After a few moments of glaring at the door, you retrieve you somewhat sticky husktop. You open it up, clicking on the chatting program, when something new pops up.

_Use the MOTHER FUCKING CONFIDENTIAL_

_and MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLES program?_

You ponder for a few moments, and then click the "Fucking miracles, man" button. Then another box pops up, prompting you with some new buttons.

_For MOTHER FUCKING eternity?_

"Cod dam," you mutter angrily, clicking the affirmative button again. Eternity, yes. You practically have an eternity to live. Your husktop whirs for a few seconds before popping up with the trolling program. "Fin-ally," you growl, tapping your fingers impatiently against the desk.

Immediately, someone is trolling you. A message pops up, startling enough to make your gills flare. After reading for a few minutes, though, you realize it's an automated message from the creator to welcome you to your new program. Pretty much a boring message, though the quirks in it catch your eye. Double i's and random 2s. It almost sounds cute to you.

Unfortunately, your chumpdump is empty. And you only know one Trollian Handle! So you type it in anyways, wondering if they're on.

Turns out, they are.

* * *

**-imperialCondesce [IC] began trolling orphanerDualscar [OD] at 19:03!-**

**IC: I sea t)(at you're on rig)(t now.**

**IC: W)(ale, I just wanted to let you know w)(at an )(onor it is for you.**

**IC: Me contacting you.**

**IC: Rig)(t now.**

**IC: ...**

**OD: oh hey there condesce didnt "sea" you**

**IN: INSURF-ERABL-E PRICK!**

**OD: hahaha yeah I get that a lot an yeah its a major honor to talk to you**

**OD: im guessin you somehoww got a good protection program or else you wwouldn't evven deign to talk to little ole royal me**

**IC: Yes, in fact, I do )(ake a rat)(er good program, t)(ank you V-ERY MUC)(!**

**IC: The )(ig)(blood gave it to me.**

**OD: no shit wwoww hes a fuckin piece of wwork**

**OD: so havve you givven anymore thought to wwhat i said earlier?**

**IC: Yes.**

**OD: an**

**IC: W)(elk.**

**IC: I frill embarrassed to admit it,**

**OD: uhuh yes do go on**

**IC: I need your kelp.**

**OD: nuh uh i need you to say it wwithout the fishpuns or the stupid quirk**

**OD: i need full fuckin sincerity**

**OD: beggin your pardon majesty**

**IC: ALRIG)(T YOU SOGGY PI-EC-E OF CARP!**

**IC: Okay.**

**IC: I'll say it.**

**IC: I need your help getting rid of this stupid council, these stupid laws and the stupid signless mutant.**

**OD: wwhats the magic wword?**

**IC: Cod dammit.**

**OD: thats not it**

**OD: no need to be so**

**OD: koi**

**IC: )(e)(e, nice one.**

**IC: PL-EAS-E?**

**OD: thats much much better**

**IC: It )(ad better be!**

**OD: yes i wwill help you**

**OD: but**

**OD: you dont evven need to ask**

**OD: i wwould do anythin for you**

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] has disconnected from the conversation!-**

**IC: )(oly carp.**

**IC: W)(at?**

* * *

**A/N: I have really started warming up to the story, and to the Condesce. At first, I thought her storyline was going kind of slow, but I feel like it's picking up now, yush? Thanks for continuing to read! And also, I put the trolling logs in bold to distinguish them from the rest of the text. **


	5. Beginning

This is it. You are finally going to leave your forests.

The Teacher and you are just finishing packing things up for the trip to find the Dolorosa. The closer the beginning of the journey gets, the more nervous you are. Your mountain, your forest – it's all that you have ever known. The rest of the planet is just a blank map for you. A terrifying, empty white space, surrounding your detailed haven of comfort and safety.

"Are you ready?" asks Teacher, his voice soft. He's holding his side, pressing against the wounds. You bite your bottom lip, pain pulling at your heart strings. You have to do this for him. You have to face your fears.

"Yes," you say.

You sling the packs over you shoulders, somewhat reassured at your strength. The Teacher had offered to carry some, but you refused to let an injured troll carry anything. You just asked him, in your stuttering and halting speech, to tell you stories to keep you occupied. You love stories.

He thinks while you two walk down the mountain. At the bottom, Pounce de Leon lingers, and you go over to her, wrapping your arms around her. Her milky smell permeates through the air, and you breath it in, stroking her soft fur. "Good bye, Pounce." You whisper. After a few more minutes of clinging, you let go, wiping some tears away with the heel of your palm. Then you turn around and leave.

The first story Teacher tells is about troll children from long, long ago. "Ancient children," he says. "They don't even really exist on Alternia, but at the same time, they do, living on as trolls among us. They created us, and are us, but no matter how much we all believe as a race that what we do is right, I realize that we are a product of their failure."

You listen with rapture to his every word, fascinated. The way he works words amazes you. You love painting, but you have never even dreamed that pictures could be painted with words. But the Teacher can do it. He treats each word like a bee treats a flower, gently buoying it to produce the sweetest nectar, and from that the most delectable honeyed sentence.

After several miles, you bid him to stop. He has begun to sweat profusely, and his normally grey complexion is paling. You rest for the night, under the stars and the trees, and exchange a few conversations over the camp fire before falling asleep. Already, your nerves are beginning to fade. What could possibly go wrong? You think as you drift of to sleep, lulled by the rhythmic breaths of the other troll laying across the dying fire.

* * *

You have reached the edge of your forest.

You stand at the brink, only a few trees between you and the edge of your world. Next to you, the Teacher slumps against another tree, his breathing ragged as he clutches his wounded side. You're worried about him, but at the same time, the exhilarating world lays before you.

"Your wounds good?" you ask him, your speaking skills better. He nods, his pale face sweating.

"Yes," he answers. "I know this area. There should be an inn within a days walk."

"Inn?" you ask.

"A place where we can sleep and eat. It's a rather old fashioned idea, but some trolls think they're quaint."

You nod, pretending to understand. How was an "inn" any different then what you two had previously been doing? You slept and ate at every place you stopped, underneath the stars and tree canopies. But Teacher is always right.

You continue walking, eventually stumbling upon a paved road. You stop, amazed at the smoothness of the material. Kneeling, you touch it with your hands and your fingers, memorizing every texture and smell. Behind you, Teacher laughs haphazardly, gasping between each chuckle.

"It's just a road," he says, breathing heavily. You glance his way, feeling your face crease with worry. But you walk on. As the night dwindles, and you see the pink of the sun rising and over casting the moons, you see a large shape. You have heard of these dwelling places, cave-like places called "hives." But you have never pictured them like this.

It is lopsided, with strange parts sticking out in ways that seem to defy the laws of physics. Square holes allow you to peek inside. Hurriedly, you usher the Teacher inside, supporting him by wrapping on of his arms around your shoulders. A troll at the front desk looks up.

"Hello," he calls out. His thick, black hair is spiky, and his horns downwards. You judge by his scent and his symbol that he is middle class, a lime green blood. Just a rank above you. He takes in you and your wide eyed stare and your wounded companion, though you have thankfully changed his bloody bandages recently.

"Welcome," he calls out, beckoning you. "How many rooms?"

"One," you say gruffly. The troll surveys you.

"You're an olive blood," he mentions, gesturing towards your eyes. You blink, and then hope that Teacher wouldn't open his.

"Yes," you reply evenly. "Come from forest."

The troll grins at you. "Is this your first time out?" he inquires. You nod, allowing some of the nerves you feel to show. The troll is testing you, gauging your skills and wit. He smiles kindly.

"That'll be ten gold Condesces," he says. You snort.

"Cheat," you snarl. The other troll busts out laughing, wiping away pale lime tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Alright, you got me. I was testing you." he grins. "5 copper half Condesces. Each. Meals are extra."

You nod. This seems fair enough to you. You awkwardly pull out the money and the troll leads you to your hive chambers. Once inside, you lock the door, shoving furniture in front of it. You don't know what to make of this place. Trolls seem to be swarming everywhere you look, and for some reason, it feels dire to hide the Teacher from them all. They will be suspicious of his vibrant red blood. You don't even know it, but his signless clothes will make others nervous and suspicious, as well. The only reason others do not judge you on your symbolless clothes is because of your eyes and bearing – you are immediately recognized as an uncouth olive blood, and are gently and methodically ignored.

You fill up a basin with cool water, wet a rag down and smooth it on the Teacher's head. His breathing is ragged, sweat dripping off of his clammy skin. You bite your lip, worried. After a few minutes, he opens his red eyes blearily, blinking at you.

"Did we make it?" he rasps. You nod carefully, wringing out the warm cloth and dipping it in the cool water basin. He closes his eyes, smiling. "Good."

"Yes," you say. "But there many troll here."

"Really?" he asks, his eyes still closed. "Oh well. I can feel that something good is going to happen here."

"Something good?"

"Yes. Something that will influence me – us."

"Us," you repeat, tasting the word. After thinking about, you decide you like the word a lot.

The Teach nods, and then begins to snore softly. You check his wounds, rubbing on some of the poultices you brought, and then clean the bandages, hanging them up. You then bandage him up again with clean ones, carefully wrapping him so as not to disturb his slumber. After finishing, you stare, reaching out to touch his face.

"Us," you repeat again, feeling the spiky stubble underneath your calloused fingers. Then you lay your head over his vascular chambers, listening to it beat. It pumps blood faster than yours did, you realize. His life is slipping away sooner and more quickly then yours. He will die before you do.

You close your eyes, pained, before going to curl up on the floor.

* * *

A loud knock wakes you up. It's sometime during the night, probably early on, judging by the moonslight filtering through the window. Quickly, you sit up, cocking your head to pinpoint the sound. It takes you a few seconds to instantly feel awkward, realizing that the knocking can only come from one place: the door.

You spring up, scurrying over to move the furniture out of the way. When you open the door, you see a tired looking mustard blood with a tray of food. He shoves the food towards you, his eyes shadowed by a fringe of black hair. You jump, grabbing the tray, and then glance up.

"Thank you," you say as kindly as you can. He grunts, muttering something about his shift ending, and then lumbers back towards the stairs, his twin horns glimmering on either side. As he leaves, pressure that you realize hadn't even been there fades away, and you breath out in relief.

You walk back over to the Teacher, sitting down beside him.

"Teacher," you whisper. "Food for you."

He groans, pushing you away. Then his eyes snap open.

"That is not my title," he snarls. "I am the Signless!"

You jump again, startled by his sudden hostility. But then you smile gently, shushing him.

"Yes," you say. "Hungry?"

"No! Not for food. I am hungry for peace!" the Teacher glares at you, and begins to thrash. You set the tray down quickly, grabbing his arms. He yowls like a wild beast, and then snarls at you. "What is wrong with this world? What has happened to it?" he crows, and you try again to shoosh him.

"Please," you beg. "Please, quiet!"

"I am the Signless!" he yells again through you hands. "I have come to liberate this world from the evil clutches of the highbloods! No longer do we have to live in oppression -"

You do the most sensible thing. As he struggles upwards in your arms, you chop him in the back of the neck, knocking him out.

His body stiffens, his eyes wide with shock and a crazed fever. And then he slumps to the bed, his body limp like a doll you saw once when other Olive bloods had brought you toys. You gulp, fearful that you may have accidentally killed him, but you see his chest moving with breath.

"Sorry," you whisper, laying him down as gently as you can. You rub his head for a few seconds, and in a masochistic way begin to relish the guilt that assails you. You have every right to be guilty. You just hope he'll forgive you when he awakens. And if he doesn't? You ask yourself silently, moving over to the windows. You don't dare risk the Teacher's – Signless, you correct yourself with some misgivings – safety. You deftly open it up, step out onto the ledge, and leap, tumbling through the air to the tree next to the window. Your experienced hands find the right branches to support your weight, and nimbly you climb down. Growing up in the wild does have its uses, you think smugly, and then you answer your question. You will follow him to the ends of Alternia, even if he hates you. His life means so much.

It has come to your attention that your mish-mash of furs looks out of place among the sheek, panache black outfits of the other trolls. You know that you do not wear clothes fitting of your blood rank, but the other Olive bloods have never bothered with you, and you really don't care. But you don't want to make yourself stand out. That paranoid feeling surrounding your new comrade comes back, and you fear what will happen if he is discovered.

The walk into town doesn't take long. You know it is there because of the smells and sounds. The market's in full swing, with trolls bustling every which way. You stop, staring. How many trolls are there? One, two, three... More then you can count. Overwhelmed, you try to push through to find the clothing stall, but bump into several trolls. They growl and shove back at you, leaving you feeling very, very frazzled. Eventually, you get shoved right into the very stall you want! Clothes galore are laid out, the skin tight black suits decorated specifically for each caste laid out carefully.

"Hello," you say to the shop keeper. She's a bored looking teal blood, with a shock of long, scraggly hair, streaks of bluish-green in it. Her black suit is laced with interesting teal designs, her skirt full of circular patterns. She takes one look at your furs and clicks her tongue.

"Oh, by the sweet Condesce's trident, what have we here?" she drawls.

You look down, eyeing your skins self-consciously. "Clothes?" you ask. She shakes her head. "You give?"

"I won't give, but you can certainly buy!" replies the teal blood. You nod, indicating your enthusiasm and the fact that you have money to spend. The Teal blood takes a look at your eyes, and then slides over to the Olive blood section of clothing, rifling through for a size that would fit you. She holds several up to your figure, tsks, and then discards them back into the pile. At one point, she takes you behind a screen and forces you to unclothe. You stand there, naked, completely unbothered by it. Humility and shame of public nudity has never even occurred to you. Her eyes search your body, taking in the scars and muscles from years in the harsh woods and mountains. But most Olive blooded trolls look like that. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, she leaves, returning with a wrapped up package.

"This is very, very old. My lusus gave it to me after I was kicked out of Legislacerator school. She found it somewhere hidden in a cave, and was saving it. She whispered to me that it must have come from another planet – or another universe, even! Can you imagine that? I've tried to sell it to multiple Olive bloods, but something always stopped me – it was like some stupid higher being was there. Anyways, it looks like it was made for you. It should fit like a charm."

She hands over the carefully wrapped package to you, and you unwrap it cautiously. Inside, durable black material touches your fingers, soft and strong. They're leggings. You pull them on, admiring the green stripes racing up your muscular legs. You unwrap two more articles of clothing; a shirt with your sign wrapping around the neck as straps, and a black fur skirt with green swirls sewed in. There are also two arm warmers with dazzling olive stripes. After trying it on, you realize that it fits perfectly, as if made for you. You stand in front of the mirror, and the teal blood hands you two green slippers, made out of the same tough cloth. You slide them on, wiggling your toes in them. You have never worn shoes much, but you find that you are enjoying the experience greatly.

You stare at yourself. For once in your life, you think that you may look appealing and feminine and not tough and sturdy. Turning to the teal blood, you pull out your pouch of money, but she pushes it away. "This cost me nothing, and I knew that one day I would give it away," she says. You shake your head, trying again. But she refuses a second time.

As you walk out of the stall, she waves good bye. "Peace be with you," she calls, and you nod your head, confused. Peace? Trolls always fought each other. You had only managed to escape most of these bloody duels by living in the mountains. The only reason market places like this exist is out of necessity, and through that truces. Peace is a hopeless wish, a quixotic dream. It will never happen.

As you walk through the square, managing to decipher the rhythm of pushing and shoving, a fight begins, as if to prove your point. A cobalt blooded troll is kicking a mustard blood. The same mustard blood, you realize, that you saw earlier at the inn. He is the one who gave you your food. Opening your mouth in shock, you stop walking, watching the scene of violence.

"I didn't hear you apologise to me, you filthy blooded piece of waste," snarls the blue blood, digging his boot heel into the curled up troll's side. The mustard blood doesn't respond except to move his body into a more compact ball. "What's that? You're sorry for touching me?" crows the higher blooded troll.

The mustard blood mutters something, putting the blue blood off. He looks genuinely confused, and then he snarls again, kicking him. You wince, hearing a rib crack. Higher hemospectrums are _strong._

"I said," the yellow blooded troll growls, his voice saying the words strangely, in a hissing sort of way. "I'm _sorry." _and then he stands up, pushing the blue blood away. Red and blue energy begins to crackle off of his skin, creating a metallic smell. You see the cobalt blooded troll grow angry, standing up and putting his hands to his forehead in concentration, preparing a mental attack of some sort. With out really meaning to, you jump in the middle of the duel, knocking down the sparking rust blood. With a loud grunt he falls, and you feel sharp, electric thrills go through you. Briefly, almost absent mindedly, you remember watching a tree get struck with lightning once. You wonder if this is how it felt.

Quickly, you pin the troll's arms down, hissing a quick demand towards him. After being satisfied that he is finished sparking and sizzling, you turn numbly around the the blue blood, who is glaring at you. You put your head to the ground, swallowing your pride.

"Sorry," you mutter. There is a quick growl and some sort of blood slur aimed at your lowliness, and he stalks off, kicking you in the side for good measure. It doesn't really hurt, but you have to clench your fists to restrain yourself. As soon as he clears off, you turn around to help up the troll whose life you have just saved.

"Stupid," you accuse immediately. "Very silly. You want for death?"

"No," he snarls, holding his side. "I could have handled him. He doesn't realize who I am!" his lisp distracts you, and you cock your head, having never heard this strange speech pattern before. Then you wisely decide it must be an accent. You are uneducated about your world and all of its inhabitants.

"Then who are you?" you ask.

He stops, glaring at you. Then he mutters something, trying to stand up, but after his adrenaline rush, he can no longer stand. His rib is probably broken, you reckon, judging by the way he hunches. Sighing, you turn around, offering your back. After many disgruntled curses and muffled insults, all of which are received by your calm, unyielding back, he limps over, gently allowing himself to be carried. There is a sharp hiss of pain as he puts pressure on his rib, and then more muffled obscenities. You have never heard of any of them, but are very interested to learn them. The funny thing about learning new languages is you can always tell which words are used for swearing.

You begin the short jog to the inn, trying to run as gently as possible. After carrying all of the equipment through the mountains and forests, the mustard blood is no trouble. His thin arms wrap around your neck, and he breathes heavily into your ears.

"Where is your hive?" you say carefully, enunciating each word. You would rather not sound too stupid. You feel him shake his head.

"I have none. I stay in the inn."

"Me too. Stay with us?" you ask, politely. He thinks.

"Might as well. They'll probably fire me anyway, after that fiasco in the market. I don't even need to work there. I just need a place to stay during the day so I can work on..." he hesitates at this, as if thinking twice on what he is saying. "Other stuff," he finishes lamely. You nod understandingly; it makes perfect sense.

You reach the inn, locating the window that you had climbed out of earlier. Climbing the tree next to it would normally be no problem, but with another troll on your back... You believe you can manage it, but it's hard to gauge. The main problem is whether or not he can hold on tight enough.

"Hold," you order him.

"Wha-?" he begins, confused, before you let go of his legs and take a running start towards the tall tree. With a yelp of both pain and surprise, he wraps his legs around you, clinging desperately. You run a few steps up the tree, but with a lurch in your stomach, you also realize it wasn't enough. Your hands scrabble for purchase on the rough bark, but the branches are too far up. You fall backwards, snarling.

And then you are no longer falling.

Red and blue light hovers around you, supporting you, harmless sparks licking your skin. You shoot upwards, crashing through the branches to the top of the tree before it fades. You hold on for dear life, and on your back the troll does the same. The tree flops over, mercifully towards your window, and you jump, landing heavily on the ledge. Quickly, you slide open the window and slip inside, but not without a loud clunk of someone's head hitting the sill and a squawk from your passenger.

"Sorry," you say curtly before lowering him gently to the floor. He grunts, his face scrunched up with pain, his eyes closed. Then he looks at you, and you stifle a gasp. His eyes are two different colours! Red and blue. You have never before seen – stop that, you chide yourself. You have seen too many strange things in the last week or so to keep on being surprised. You glance quickly over to where the Signless lies, and swallow. He still hasn't woken up.

You walk over to the water basin, filling it up. Then you return to the conscious troll, handing it to him. With a grimace, he swallows it down, gulping, before pushing it away. Then he looks at you.

"Look, I don't know if you know how, but could you set my rib in any possible way?" he asks, his eyes pleading. You shake your head, and he sighs. "Ok. Just checking. It's going to be a rough couple of days." and he settles back, closing his eyes. When you are sure he is sleeping, you brush a hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. Shocked, you retrieve a washcloth and soak it in the water basin, laying it on his face.

"It's really not necessary," he mutters, 'necessary' whistling through his mouth. You jump, your heart thumping wildly. His odd eyes are staring at you again, and you regain your posture.

"Name?" you ask. He shakes his head.

"My name is my own," he tells you. "But I was given the title of Psiioniic."

"Thiioniic?" you ask, confused. He gives a shaky laugh, wincing as the pressure hurts his rib.

"I can't say it right, but it's an... Oh, shit. Sure, why the hell not," he says in his strange accent, and then starts chuckling, as if it's the funniest thing he has ever heard. You conclude that you have rescued one of those trolls that you have heard about – a troll that is "not right in his pan." But it's too late now. It's not as if you can return him or anything, especially when he's injured.

A violent bout of coughing from the bed disturbs you from your musings, and you're instantly by the Signless' side. It's strange to call him that, now, after thinking of him as your teacher. As the Teacher. But what he said before makes sense. He has strange, never before seen red blood, therefore he has no sign, and therefore no Lusus. His title, probably appointed by himself or by the Dolorosa – whoever she is – makes sense. You cool off his forehead, and as you do, muttered curses come from behind you as the Psiioniic shifts positions.

You realize that you are now probably in the company of two fugitives. With just a few simple acts of generosity, you have landed yourself in ill favour with the authorities. And you have only been in the actual public for about a day! Still... You don't think you regret a single thing. Putting yourself in danger seems sensible. The wilds you used to call home have long since ceased to pose a threat to you. You kind of miss the exhilarating thrill of fear.

Besides, you may have found your first two, real friends. Surely that is worth risking your life for, right?

Of course.


	6. Future

Slowly, the moons rise above Alternia, casting their light on the dead and gray ground below. In a portion of the light, a crew of trolls tromp along, heading towards a large landing platform where several giant ships wait for them. The ships glimmer ominously in the light, the red shining like mutant's blood, the long prongs reaching out, as if to cruelly prick the sky.

You take this all in, trying to keep your gills from flaring with excitement.

Today is the day you inspect the newest model of ships that will take your people across the galaxy. Across the universe. The idea of meeting other worlds makes you shiver with delight, thinking of the people you will meet and the worlds you will see.

The places you can conquer.

As you walk by the skips, you brush your hands against one side. It's sleek and metallic underneath your fingertips. Your body is trembling, and you can't hold back the feeling of excitement. You can ride on one of the ships, to the furthest stars and beyond them, and be _free._

A thump on your shoulder brings you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see the Grand Highblood. Ever since that pap a few nights ago, you don't really know what to think of him. He's still quite terrifying, but now confusion and a potential ally apply to him as well. You can't tell what his goal is, or his motive, but you're sure that he is honest about his attempts to help. The Grand Highblood might be stark raving mad, but he is not stupid or foolish. Or a liar.

"These be some MIGHTY FINE ships you got here," he whispers to you. You glance up at them and can't stifle the delighted grin that spreads across your face.

"Oh, yes," you say. "Quite fin." that manages to draw a manic grin out of him, and he chuckles, muttering the pun over and over in his grating whisper. You suppose you are glad for his support. At least you don't feel as crazy around him.

All of you finally board the ships, drifting through the hallways. They are tall and dark, lit by red lights. You see your royal insignia stamped almost everywhere, white tridents swamping your eyesight. The hard floors clomp pleasantly beneath your feet and shoes, and doors swish open with barely a whisper. As you draw closer to the main bridge, you began to feel pressure bearing down upon you, a vibration making your trident hum in your hands. As the door opens, a scream suddenly blasts you, the heat of a powerful blast of psychic thought almost knocking you off of your feet. Without the Highblood, you might have fallen over, but he catches you in his large, sturdy arms, your hair whipping him the face.

The source of the powerful blast is still screaming, but quietly now, more like whimpers. Her high keening is wordless, but you understand immediately the words behind it: _I'm imprisoned. _You swallow suddenly, licking your lips and taking the low blood in.

_I refuse to feel guilty, _You tell yourself. _This is for the sake of my people. _

She has become part of the internal system of the ship, her arms suspended above her head and trapped in a mass of pink, fibrous power vines, her legs wrapped in similar chords. Her head hangs low, but when she hears you approach, it swings up, her golden eyes weary. Her eyes immediately go wide, and she bares her fangs.

"You!" she screams, writhing in her bonds. "This is all your fault! You whore! How dare you –"

The crack of her head whipping back makes you wince. The Highblood stands next to you, his expression furious as he raises his hand to hit her again. You grab his arm, pulling with all of your might to try and hold it down. By the moons, he is _strong. _

"How dare you just MOTHER FUCKING ACCUSE your EMPRESS like that?" he roars, struggling against you. "You better give your MOTHER FUCKING RESPECT to her? DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?"

"Stop!" you snarl, pulling. "Stop it, _right now. _It is not that serious!"

After much pulling and screaming, the Grand Highblood calms down, his breathing irregular and his eyes still burning. You cautiously let go, watching him carefully. With a snarl, he pushes you aside, grabbing the yellow blooded troll's head and ripping it off. There is the sound of stitches being pulled, a high shriek and then silence, wet splatters of golden blood hitting the floor. Immediately, all the lights in the hull went out.

You hold your hand over your mouth, trying to push down the bile that begins to build up. You have never – _never – _seen someone rip a head off of a body before. The wrenching, ripping sound replays in your head, over and over. The smell of blood permeates the bridge, and frightened cries have started to sound around you. Slowly, you feel your power flicker, and some light comes into the darkened bridge. You wish you hadn't. The Grand Highblood still has the head in his hands, which is fixed into a macabre expression, her mouth wide and horrified, her eyes rolled back. Golden blood covers his front, his face, and as he turns to look at you, you see a fierce fire inside of his eyes. The body hangs limply in the power vines, which no longer glow with her psychic power.

"Emperecita," says the Grand Highblood, and you stare at him. "Mother fucker was disrepecting you." he seems calm, which gives the whole scene of other trolls retching and running around trying to find a replacement psychic a surreal quality. When he steps forwards towards you, the head in his hands dangling, you stumble backwards, tripping on a wire. He leaps forward, throwing the head aside with a wet and dull thump to catch you. In his arms, you realize you cannot stop trembling, though your shivers are not of joy, this time.

They are of fear.

"Emperecita," he says again, but softly this time, gently. You can't look him in the face, so instead you stare at his gray hands, covered and dripping in drying yellow blood. Some of it has gotten on your suit and your own skin, and you try to rub it off. "Condesce," you hear.

You swing your head up and meet him face to face, your power the only light between you two. He stares evenly into your eyes, his face stoic and grave. You're still shivering, and his arms hold you gently. Softly, he raises a hands to your cheek, cupping it in a hand about the size of your face. "Shoosh," he says, rubbing his rough thumb over your cheek. "This brother right here won't hurt you."

As the crew drags in another mustard blood, this one sullen and resigned, you push away the Grand Highblood's hand, standing up unsteadily. The lights flicker back on, and you see the new psychic in his bonds. He stares expressionlessly at nothing. "Thank you for catching me," you say evenly, pushing down the dark fear swelling up inside of you. _He ripped her head off. He just ripped it off. _You manage to look past the head and the body, ignoring it in the bright lights, before walking away towards the door of the ship. You do not hear the indigo blood behind you get up, for which you are both thankful, and a little confused. As you abscond from the hull and out of the ship by yourself, you begin to run. Little shakes and spasms rack your body, making your gait jagged and uneven. When you wipe sweat from your face, you see pink tears as well. Ragged pants escape from your mouth, puffing away your thick, black hair. When you run as far as you can, you collapse, hair sticking to your perspiring body.

Suddenly, your hand held device begins to bleep at you, making you jump.

* * *

**-grandHighblood [GH] began trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 23:00!-**

**GH: emperecita.**

**GH: are you there?**

**GH: what happened back there.**

**GH: WHAT I FUCKING DID BACK THERE.**

**GH: it means nothing.**

**GH: NOTHING, ALRIGHT?**

**GH: you have absolutely nothing**

**GH: NOTHING**

**GH: to fear.**

**GH: alright?**

**GH: honk**

**GH: HONK**

**-grandHighblood [GH] ceased trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 23:10!-**

* * *

You ignore his messages, but you see that someone else had been trolling you while you were on the ship.

* * *

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] began trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 20:45!-**

**OD: hey**

**OD: come in captain**

**OD: important newws here**

**OD: hello**

**OD: ms highest majesty**

**OD: wwhat am i**

**OD: fried fish?**

**OD: ok that wwas a stupid pun to see if youre there**

**OD: wwhich youre obvviously not**

**OD: le sign**

**OD: ok**

**OD: howw about this**

**OD: i wwill just sit here**

**OD: until you message back**

**OD: wwaitin**

**OD: and wwaitin**

**OD: ugh**

**IC: )(i.**

**OD: holy cod an all that is glorious!**

**OD: ivve been wwaitin here for almost three hours**

**OD: howw dare you**

**IC: Sorry.**

**OD: apology accepted wwith all the dignity i can muster**

**OD: and yet i still feel annoyed wwhat the fuck**

**IC: W)(ere are you?**

**OD: on the beach**

**IC: T)(e beach?**

**OD: the beach**

**IC: I wis)( I could join you t)(ere...**

**OD: wwho says you cant?**

**IC: T)(e council.**

**IC: T)(ey don't let me do anyt)(ing!**

**OD: uhuh yeah wwell wwho cares wwhat they wwant**

**OD: just run awway**

**IC: Run away?**

**IC: Like, away away?**

**OD: yes**

You stop, your fingers hovering over the your portable oracular device. How you would love to run away from it all – the council, the responsibility. And the Grand Highblood. You don't think you will be able to meet him in the eye ever again. The haunting smell of yellow blood will spring up immediately, and what about his strange behavior? It is almost like he trying to woo your pale quadrant, but that couldn't possibly be right. You, have a moiral? You don't need anyone to watch your back or to control you, and you certainly didn't even know if the Highblood was capable of feelings other then cruelty.

**IC: Okay.**

**IC: I will do it.**

**IC: I will run away.**

**OD: good I wwas hopin you wwould say that**

**IC: What?**

**OD: im wwaitin for you on the beach wwhere you first touched land**

**IC: )(ow do you know t)(at?**

**OD: im wwaitin**

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] ceased trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 23:30!-**

* * *

How does he know that? You think numbly. And then you suddenly feel a swell of fierce joy. _You have an escape. _You stand up quickly, looking toward the stars to gauge your position. The beach should be about 6 hours away from here if you push yourself to run as fast as you can. You set off for the beach, thrill pounding in your veins.

About an hour in, you hear someone following you, and you glance back. You see nothing, but fear began to lace its way through your body, and your speed picks up. So does your pursuers, and they're catching up. With a cry, you trip suddenly, crashing to the ground and skidding. Your head hits a rock hard, making you vision go blurry and the stars spin above your head. A sticky feeling drips down your face, and you groan.

Gentle arms pick you up, cradling you. You see yellow blood, and with a sob of terror push weakly at them. "No, no, _no." _you scream, trying to run. But the gray, muscular arms hold resolutely. "You will kill me _please don't kill me."_

"Shh," you hear, and you scream again, trying to draw on your power. But it kindles too far down, too deep in the sluggish pain in your head. Finally, you go limp, only tears slipping out. A rough hands brushes your hair, and all you can think about is handsome Dualscar waiting to give you freedom. _Freedom. _You laugh, but it comes out as more of a choking sound. How could you ever delusion yourself into thinking that you could ever be free?

"This is the second time tonight," you say, your voice nasally from crying. The Grand Highblood laughs, pulling you closer. The dry blood crackles on his arms.

"I thought you were running," he says quietly. You sniff.

"I was."

"Well, good fucking thing I stopped you."

"No," you say flatly, refusing to reciprocate. He gives an angry sigh, grabbing your temples with either hands.

"Listen up, EMPERECITA. Are you FUCKING listening?" he says, and you nod mutely, your eyes wide with fear.

"I will never – NEVER – fucking hurt YOU." he says, his eyes clear and intense. And then his gaze softens, and he smooths back a thick lock of hair from your face. "Never you," he whispers, drawing you into a hug. You can't see your face, but you know your cheeks are flushing pink. What the hell does it all mean? You think, panicked. Your hands lay stiffly beside you, your whole body as tense as a spring. When he pulls back, you must be making an awful face, because he brays with laughter.

"Can't understand?" he says. "It's called flushing pale."

"Wraugh," you say, the strangled noise loosening the awkward moment. His laughter continues, ringing in your ears. The loud sound hurts your injured head. "I think I'm going to be sick," you say, and then you pass out.

* * *

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] began trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 00:02!-**

**OD: hello?**

**OD: im still wwaitin for you**

**OD: guess i wwill alwways wwait for you**

**OD: for forevver you knoww?**

**OD: i nevver believved her**

**OD: wwhen she said that you wwould come back to me**

**OD: i mean come on she read it out of a stupid ball**

**OD: wwho the fuck does that?**

**OD: but she wwas right**

**OD: but this means shes right about the other stuff too**

**OD: like no matter howw long i wwait**

**OD: or howw much i wwant you to come here**

**OD: you nevver wwill**

**OD: she also said that wwhen you wwould try to come**

**OD: you wwont**

**OD: and you cant**

**OD: you nevver wwill**

**OD: but i didnt believve her**

**OD: i laughed at her**

**OD: but you wwont wwill you**

**OD: somethin wwill alwways hold you back from me**

**OD: alwways**

**OD: forevver**

**OD: wwe wwill nevver be together**

**OD: ivve felt it my wwhole life**

**OD: and wwill for the rest of my life**

**OD: and probably into my next life too**

**OD: wwell anywways**

**OD: i guess i just wwant to say**

**OD: i kneww you wwouldnt make it here tonight**

**OD: so dont feel too bad ok?**

**OD: its not your fault**

**OD: i shouldnt havve givven you the hope of freedom**

**OD: hope**

**OD: such a stupid thing**

**OD: i wwas drivven by my owwn hope**

**OD: ha**

**OD: so i guess this is goodbye for noww**

**OD: bye**

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] has disconnected from his partner!-**


	7. Searching

All day, the Psiioniic keeps you up. You can hear him clicking and clacking away on whatever device he uses, hear his hisses of frustrations and his murmurs of triumph. He never stops. Finally, you roll over, crawling to where he sits out of the ancient sun's harmful rays.

"What is it?" you ask, glancing at the shiny front of it. He jumps, startled. Then he glances down.

"Oh, this? It's a portable husktop. I'm designing stuff on here. Have to make a living, you know?"

"Designing?" you question, staring. Squares lay underneath the glossy surface, writing popping up inside each one. It all looks very complicated to you, who cannot write at all. As you search for some meaning, he sighs.

"Look, I can't just keep calling you 'you.' It's just not cool, and it's sort of insulting." He turns to you, managing to look both irritated and a little embarrassed at the same time. You stare, unblinking, a little bit of dread falling into the pit of your stomach. You know what he's going to ask, but you can't answer. "I don't need your real name, or anything, but, you know. A title is good enough. Just so I don't have to refer to you as, uh, you."

You stare helplessly at him, opening you mouth, and then closing it. You can't answer. Never before have you wished so strongly that you could be tied down to this planet, to the ground, to other people with a word. _A name. A title. _They seemed so stupid until these last few weeks. Now, you desperately long for one.

As you plan to tell him, no, you unfortunately do not have a name, a raspy whisper comes from the bed.

"Disciple."

Both of you freeze, you out of surprise and confusion of the word, and the Psiioniic because he had forgotten about the quieter and more bed ridden guest. You watch the Signless struggle for a few seconds, trying to get up, before you dash over to help him. Slowly, the Psiioniic follows, gazing down at the feverish and injured troll.

"By the sweet Condesce's trident," he whispers, meeting the Signless' eyes and staring at their crimson color. "But that's impossible,"

The red eyes gaze back, empty of feeling. You try to wring out a damp cloth for his forehead, but impatiently he pushes you aside, a sudden hysterical vigor stiffening his body. Excitement makes him tremble.

"I have seen a vision," he begins earnestly, holding your hands. You gape at the heat of them, fiery and clammy, sweaty against your own palms. "You are my Disciple. You will follow me through every important step of my journey to liberate us,"

"Disciple," you say, feeling the word in your mouth. It sizzles pleasantly on your tongue, and you repeat it. "Disciple."

"Yes," he says. "My Disciple."

"Me," you say, puzzled. "Me? Disciple?"

"Yes," he tells you, simply. You drop your hands, looking at them. They seem normal enough – _but they have a name now! _Disciple, Disciple, Disciple... It echoes through your head. A laugh forces its way out of your throat, and you spin around to the Psiioniic, who looks overwhelmed.

"Disciple!" you shout. "My title, Psiioniic. Ask!"

"Uh, I think I'm good," he tells you, but you grab the front of his shirt, shaking him. "Stop!" he shouts, trying to push you off, and you let go, singing out your name with tears streaming down your cheek. You want to tell everyone. They will all know! But you can't. That will mean giving away the Signless.

You turn to look at him, and he is gazing intently at the Psiioniic. The mustard blood is currently looking back and forth between you two, his eyes wide and his mouth working.

"Crazy!" he sputters, back up against the blockaded door. "Both of you! Oh, what have I done to deserve this?" when you try to approach, he spits at you, fear shining in his eyes. "You're fugitives, aren't you? The Condesce wants you dead." he swings to the Signless. "I've heard about you. You're the mutant! The Condesce has her best trolls looking for you."

"Yes," says the Signless. "She is looking for me. But she will not find me till my work is done."

"How can you be so sure? _She's the Condesce. _The fucking Empress of this whole planet! She will find you, and she will kill you, and then she will kill anyone who is caught with you!" the Psiioniic moans. "Oh, sweet fuck and all that is sinful. She will _kill me_."

"Better her then low blueblood," you snort, interrupting the conversation. You dislike the way the Psiioniic automatically jumps to the conclusion that both of you are crazy. When he hears your comment, he snarls at you.

"That is none of your business!" he growls, swinging his head violently towards you. When you do not back down, he seems a bit perplexed. Then he advances towards you, grabbing your wrists. You hiss, baring your fangs at him, but he snarls back, red and blue sparks running all across his body; you can feel the almost painful tinglings of his power electrocuting your arms, and you imagine it racing up towards your vascular system. The Signless watches this exchange calmly, serenely, his red eyes tired yet vaguely interested.

"My business _now,"_ you reply tartly, staring him in the eye. You are not afraid. You know he will not hurt you. He is an honest troll, and though irritable and angry, he is good. As if unnerved by your staring challenge, he quickly lets go, turning around and running a hand through his hair. Then he glances back at you again, lowering his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says curtly. "I just freaked out. I guess you want a thanks?"

"No," you say. "You already thank me."

"What?" he asks. "When did I say it?"

"Through body," you reply, and you grin widely. He stares at you, perplexed, and then he glances towards the Signless, questioning. Under normal circumstances, he might think that your are trying to court him, but your innocent, feral grin turns the words upside down on their heads.

"Is she for real?"

"Oh, yes," the Signless murmurs. "My Disciple is nothing but pure and truthful." The Psiioniic stares at him, bemused, until the Signless crooks a finger at him, beckoning for him to come over. In a dazed state of confusion, the golden blooded troll wanders over, sliding his goggles up into his ruffled, thick hair in order to see the mutant better. As he leans, the Signless begins to whisper, and even your finely tuned ears cannot pick up what he is saying. Whatever it is, though, must be powerful, because the Psiioniic's eyes widen, and one golden tear falls from his red eye.

"Truly?" he whispers, pulling back to stare. The Signless nods, his gaze sorrowful. The Psiioniic closes his eyes, as if bracing himself, and then opens them again. "Alright. If that's the case, then I might as well help you on this stupid and crazy quest."

The Signless smiles, sighing deeply. He ruffles the Psiioniic's hair affectionately, who smiles a bit. A dark and bitter feeling rises up in your throat, tasting like acid. Surprised, you hold your chest, trying to detect the sensation. It's almost like you swallowed something bad, and it lodged in your throat. Before you can realize the name of the feeling, though, you are called over as well.

You sit down beside your friend, your teacher. The Signless. He smiles at you, brushing back a strand of hair from your face. His face still seems too pale, his normal reddish tinge gone from his cheeks. His eyes look weary and tired, and he holds his sides gently and carefully. Your heart squeezes painfully, and you realize that your time is running out. He needs to be taken to this Dolorosa _now._

Somehow, almost like he read your thoughts, the Signless turns to the Psiioniic. "Have you heard of the Dolorosa?"

"Of course," says the Psiioniic defensively. You raise an eye brow, smirking at his indignant reply. When the Signless stares at him, prompting for more, the Psiioniic continues. "Who hasn't heard of her? She lived beneath the ground for years with her Lusus before coming up to the surface to – " here, he trails off, as if a little disgusted. "To take care of a wiggler! Can you imagine, a troll taking care of another troll? It's blasphemous!"

The Signless narrows his eyes. You remember him telling you about how he was raised by the Dolorosa, how she loved him and cared for him like a Lusus. You can't help but feel insulted by the golden blood's tone of contempt, but hold your tongue with a warning look from the Signless.

"Do you know where she is currently?" asks the Signless. The Psiioniic frowns, thinking.

"I've heard rumors that she's living in the flatlands," he says. "But those are only shadows through my system – " abruptly, he cuts off, his two different colored eyes wide. "I didn't mean to say that. How did you make me say that?" he stares at the Signless, who gazes back calmly, but not without the hint of a smirk.

"Say what?" you ask, confused. What on Alternia is going on?

"I've never slipped up this much around other trolls before," continues the mustard blood, agitated sparks flickering in his optical sockets. He impatiently pulls his goggles down to subdue them. Instantly, he springs to his feet, pacing back and forth, glaring irritably at the both of you. Every time he opens his mouth, his clicks it shut just as fast. Finally, he stops, planting his feet wide on the rug and glaring at the both of you.

"Why do I trust you – both of you, but mostly _you," _he murmurs, glancing at the Signless, "so gogdamn _much?"_

You teacher smiles, his face both pleasant and eerily otherworldly at the same time.

"Predestined relationships, perhaps?" he replies. "Maybe it's something in your blood."

As the two of you stare, he begins to laugh, a low chuckle that starts in his belly and rips its way out, almost hysterical. Bitter coughs and snorts erupt, and he wheezes as he holds his injuries close. You and the Psiioniic stare, and you feel a little weirded out. I_s_ your master as crazy as a flying squeakbeast? It currently appears so. Finally, as his chuckles subside, you place a hand to his mouth, shushing him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles through your fingers. His breath is hot, his lips chapped from his fever. "It's just, it is so funny."

"Yes," you say. Then you try to hurry along the conversation. "We go to flatlands?"

"Oh, yes. They sound like a place she'd like to live." Carefully, the Signless sighs, leaning back to rest again. "We'll leave tomorrow."

"Does this include me?" the Psiioniic asks gloomily, his strange accent almost humorous to your ears. You both turn to look at him, and he stares back, his pupilless, multi-colored eyes straining with some feeling. His cheeks are tinged gold, and you can't help but think of an eager barkbeast wriggler. His tone of voice and his expression do not match, and after a smile from the Signless, he gives an exasperated sigh, his cheeks fairly mustard colored. "I suppose I have nothing better to do," he says.

* * *

You leave at sundown the next day. You pack up everything yourself, slinging the packs over your shoulders while the Psiioniic and the Signless whisper behind you. Even if you could hear their muted conversation, you doubt you would even understand anything. Their rapid speech confuses you, even though you are improving at speaking.

You shove aside the furniture blocking the door and open it slowly, glancing around for any other trolls. When you feel confident there are none, you motion for the others to follow. You want to stress how important it is for them to be quiet, but they seem to realize. You lead them down the stairs towards the maids' door, which you staked out the previous day. To your dismay, it's padlocked. You wiggle it around, hoping to test out its strength, and it rattles loudly. With a leap backwards, you realize that breaking the lock will make too much noise. It will attract unwanted attention.

"Move," you hear. The Psiioniic shoves you out of the way, pushing his hand against the door. There is a moment of heavy silence, hanging over you all like a deadly weight, before you hear the satisfying click of the lock springs open. The door swings wide easily at your touch, and once again you're on your way.

The road leads your troupe out of the town and through another forest. You have never been through this strip of trees because it is not connected to the main wilds of Alternia. The Condesce has been reducing the forests little by little, though her methodical destruction of them has increased dramatically in the last several sweeps. Your wilds have only remained safe because of the ancient laws the Royal Council laid down to keep the Empresses in check. But lately, with the most recent Imperial Condesce, the rules are bending more and more and she's laying down more extremes. She's slowly ripping the already wounded world apart, rubbing honey into the wounds for the insects to devour.

The forest around you is welcoming. The green smell soothes you, the moss under your feet springy and comforting. The familiarity pulls at your gut painfully, and you stop suddenly, a sharp gasp escaping your mouth. Quickly, you clamp your jaw shut, hoping no one noticed. The Psiioniic continues on past you, panting and cursing under his breath, but the Signless stops and gives you an inquisitive stare.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, stopping beside you. You nod your head curtly, and then grab his arm to continue. The cloak slips away and you feel his skin, the clammy surface sending a jolt of fear through you. _What am I doing. The Signless is sick, and here I am feeling homesick?_

"I'm fine!" you state, and then trot ahead of him. _We have to find her. We have to find the Dolorosa. _

_ She's your only hope._

You almost stop again. Only hope. _Your _only hope? Not just _his. _Yours. Since when did you become so invested in this troll that his life meant as much as yours. That healing him and making sure he is fit again to do whatever he needed became your top priority. It's a little startling, realizing this. This is your first time worrying and caring about another, and the feelings are painful. Before this, your life had been just a dull landscape of grays and greens, flat and ordinary. Everyday was the same, and your life had passed by monotonously. Hunt, scavenge, carve, perhaps meet up with the occasional trading olive blood that would return to the forests to gather goods.

And then one day, something unordinary had happened. Someone.

As you walk, passing the panting Psiioniic easily, your thoughts turn back to the Dolorosa. She's the only one who can heal him. You have done everything you can, but it's still not enough. You're not used to feeling helpless, and suddenly someone else has all the power, all the strength, when you do not. Someone you've never even met. A sudden and sharp feeling flares in your chest, just between your breasts. It's vaguely familiar, and you have felt it before. You clutch at it, trying to press down and relieve the pressure. But it seems to come from within you, though the exact reason for the pain eludes you. The twinge fades quickly, but you are left to puzzle over it.

* * *

It takes you a week to make it through the forest. The forest seems to rejuvenate the Signless some, but he still has trouble. Several times, when the strain is too great, you make the Psiioniic carry him while you carry the much heavier packs. You don't even know why he complains; it's obvious you are doing most of the work around here.

When you finally reach the edge, you gasp. The mountainous land has ended, smoothly transforming into wide, flat plains. You never thought anything besides the green, rolling mountains and forests could be beautiful. But you realize that you are wrong. The plains extended before you, thick tufts of grass and sparse brush rippling in the wind. Below the dark sky, the plant life glowed purple and dusky pinks, green light kissing the flowers and leaves. The wind swept towards you, dust swirling with it, and the first whisper of its touch reaches you before the strong gust lifts up your hair and skirt, making your eyes squint against its power. As suddenly as it had hit you, it dissipated, only it's laughing whisper left stirring through the grass.

"Pretty," you whisper. Behind you, you hear the Psiioniic finally catch up, his breathing ragged. And on his back, the Signless stirs, opening his hazy red eyes. He smiles, and then his head sags.

"She's here," he breaths. "I feel it..."

You press on, excitement suddenly pounding in your breast. The salvation and hope you have been seeking it so close. It is nearly within your grasp. Or so you thought. It turns out the plains are huge, spreading for miles around you, undisturbed. At one rest stop, you clamber up the tall, gangly form of the Psiioniic, hoping to see more from his vantage point. The only sight that greets you is a more extended sight of grass. Hopelessly, you fall back to the ground, kicking at some grass angrily. It wraps around your foot, clinging, and, flailing, you fall to the ground quite hard. There is a tired snicker from the Psiioniic.

"Nice one," he says, but it lacks enthusiasm and venom. He stares at you for a couple of minutes, and then groans. "This is just too depressing," he says, the s's whistling through his mouth. "I'm going for a walk."

You grunt in acknowledgment, but refuse to move your head. What's the point? The Signless is going to die, and everything you've done will be for nothing. You crawl over to his body, where it lies gasping and sweating, his eyes moving beneath his lids. You gaze at his lips, at his nose, at his eye lashes. They aren't very long. They don't even manage to touch his high cheekbones, but they still look so beautiful to you. Your fingers find their way into his sweaty, thick hair, feeling the curls and the waves in them as they stick to you, the salty smell wafting upwards. Softly, you begin to sing.

About halfway through the song, you choke off, and you lean forward, wrapping your arms around him. He moans, and his eyes flicker open. "Disciple?" he whispers, his breath catching in his throat. You stare back, unblinking, refusing to miss anything he does. It feels as if you can't close your eyes, because if you do, he will slip away and you will be left with a dead body. So you sit there, with him in your arms, staring at you while he pants. Then, very slowly, he lifts his hand to brush back a fringe of messy hair. "Don't... Worry..." he says. "It will... Be... Alright..."

A sob pushes out, and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. He hadn't been cleaned in a long while, and the sweaty, salty smell of his pain and fever is pungent, but it smells beautiful. He smells like the most wonderful think in the whole galaxy.

A sudden faraway scream makes you jerk, and you glance out around you. The tall grass blocks your kneeling view. "Stay," you whisper to the Signless, and he blinks, unable to muster a nod. And then you dash off into the grass, feeling it whip against your legs. Another shout guides you, and with a lurch you realize that it sounds like the Psiioniic.

You scamper into a flatter place, surrounded by trees, where it looks like something had trampled the grass. Upside down in a tree is the Psiioniic, his arms and legs in odd positions. He struggles, curses streaming out rapidly. And below him, in a frightening stance, was a tall, thin figure. They are clothed in flowing gauze and sturdy black material. And in their hands, they held a ghastly weapon of some sorts, its loud, grating sound raising the hairs up on your arms. As they turn around, your eyes meet.

"Dolorosa?" you ask.

The other troll stares back, her jade eyes wary. Her weapon abruptly changes into something, which she tucks into one of her numerous folds. Then she nods, clasping her hands.

"Where is my grub?" she demands.


	8. Difficulties

_A young troll sits on the ground, staring around herself. Her wide eyes, still black and unfilled with her blood pigment, gaze around her, drinking in everything and gasping with excitement. She's a seadweller, her fins on either side of her round face wiggling with joy. On her shirt is none other than your very own symbol._

_ You draw closer to the young troll, trying to get by without her noticing. But your small steps alert her and her keen hearing, and she swings around, her curly, thick black hair flouncing. Her eyes open wide beneath her pink goggles, and she grins, exposing familiar shark like teeth._

_ "Hello!" she calls out, blinking and wiggling with tension. You hold back, a little unnerved by her joy. But her happiness beckons, and slowly you drift over, her identity dawning on you. _

_ She's your descendant._

_ You stare, open-mouthed, at the excitable troll, feeling nothing but shock. _What on Alternia, _you wonder, taking her in. She's so like you it's scary. Her curves are similar, her ear fins that taper out further than other seadwellers. You had always been a little embarrassed about them. Her round black lips are so familiar, as well. And that thick, unmanageable hair that always made you look so wild and unruly._

_ You clear your throat, saying with as much dignity as you can muster, "Greetings." You drift closer, sitting next to her on the flat, dusty ground. The sky over your head is black, a void of nothing._

_ "What's your name?" she asks. You flinch, surprised at the personal question, but she blinks back innocently, unperturbed by her own vulgar question. "Did I say something wrong?"_

_ "No," you reply quietly. For some reason, you want her to know. She feels so... Dear. Her wide smile and large eyes incite some feeling within you. A dry wind somehow stirs up in the dead area, wrapping your hair around her like tendrils._

_ "Mm," the other girl murmured. "It reminds me of __Gl'bgolyb_. _She was my-"_

_ "Lusus," you answer, realizing with a startle that she has your Lusus. _Your _Lusus. When does that happen? Is she going to steal your Lusus one day? _

_ With another jolt, you recognize the warm feeling. It's the feeling you get when you're close to your Lusus, when she acts motherly. It's the feeling you receive from her when you feed her..._

_ You stand up abruptly, disgusted with yourself. How could you – an Empress, the most powerful female on Alternia – feel such feelings? They are abominable! They're not meant to be felt! You breath deeply a few times, and then come to a decision._

_ "Meenah," you whisper, and you see the troll's fins perk up._

_ "Meenah, huh?" she asks, and then grins again. "What a GREAT name! I'm roetally jellyfish of you!" She giggles, amused by her own puns. A snort rips its way out of your mouth, and you clap a hand over your face, stifling your own chuckles. The girl is good._

_ "My name is Feferi," she replies. "Feferi Peixes. And I'm the Empress to be."_

_ "Oh," you mutter, unsure of what else to say. So she's the one who is going to take your job one day. Just as you had taken your predecessor's job. Thinking about it, you must have been related to the previous Condesce, as well. And then briefly, you wonder about who you would commit that act with, the one about pailing. Just the thought of pailing makes you blush. Is she conceived from a darker quadrant, or a flushed one? And with whom? Unbidden, a smoldering violet blooded seadweller rises up in your mind, but you quickly stifle the embarrassing thought. _

_ "Or, at least I was going to be," the sad voice cuts into your thoughts. You glance back towards the smaller figure, and she smiles mercurially. _

_ "Why wouldn't you be?" you demand._

_ "Whale," she says. "Because I'm dead."_

_ And she smiles again, bone white eyes flashing beneath her goggles._

* * *

Your eyes fly open, and you hear voices in the next room. And someone looms over you.

At first, you think it's the Grand Highblood, and you struggle up, your cheeks flushing and your thoughts immediately going to the previous night. _What am I supposed to say, _you think, panicked, until the figure swims into view, sharpening into a much more square and handsome face. Two purple scars lace diagonally from one temple to the opposite chin. Your heart throbs at the sight of Dualscar's attractive, square jaw line, stubbled with prickley hair. You want to run your hand down his jawline, to feeling the soft scratch against your hands. To smell the salt surely lingering on his skin...

"Majesty?" he whispers, concerned, and you flush a deeper color, ashamed of your thoughts. Clearing your throat, you sit up all the way, smoothing down the blankets around you. Sopor slime beds disgust you. You had no need for them when you lived under the sea, and you still don't need one. They're reserved for lowbloods only, who require them for recuperation during the day. There were some whispers that the sopor slime healed and soothed wounds, but in doing so shortened a troll's life. The highbloods generally had good healing capabilities, while the lowbloods did not. They sacrificed days of their lives just to heal faster.

"I'm fine," you reply disdainfully. _I have to look unruffled, _you tell yourself. _I must remain unfazed. I must be ready for anything. _"Just slightly... Sick."

"I noticed," Dualscar responds, softly. He looks at you for a few moments, his eyes unreadable. You swallow, feeling your own emotions stir. It hurts, you notice, being here with him. It hurts, but it also feels right. He reminds you so much of home. Those familiar fins, the delicate gills lining across his neck, the vivid purple of his eyes. You breath deeply, stifling down your urges to lean in and smell him, to touch him.

He himself leans forward first, pressing his forhead against yours. He looks into your eyes, his breath brushing against your lips, tasting salty. One of his hands reaches up to cradle the back of your neck, pushing through the thick tangle of hair. When his fingers brush against your gills, they flare suddenly, the surprising chill coming from his knuckles making you flinch. You hear him chuckle, and suddenly he's kissing you, his lips rough from the wind.

It's a sweet feeling. You feel as if you are melting from the inside out, but that you are also cold. Electric tingles thrill up and down your spine, and your aquatic vascular system begins pumping even faster, more blood rushing to your cheeks. Awkwardly, you try to kiss back, but sadly, you lack experience. You may be Empress of Alternia, but that just serves to keep others away from you romantically.

With your awkward kisses, he laughs lowly against your face, pulling away to look at you. You glance away from him, embarrassed. His hand caresses your face, his thumb rubbing your fins delicately. Suddenly, you wonder if he doesn't want to kiss you again because of your horrible skills. Your eyes meet his in desperation, and the raw desire on his face makes your heart stop.

He _wants _you.

You. Not the Empress, not the magenta blood.

Just you.

And you find you just don't care about your lack of skill anymore. Your hands are around his jaw, that strong jaw line, and you feel the stubble. It drives you crazy, sort of itchy, but at the same time tingly, pleasant. You kiss him, the force of your lips jarring against his teeth drawing blood, fuschia tracks dripping down your chin. You feel... Powerful. You feel like you're on fire. You feel him respond to you, and you feel slightly smug when he moans a little, his desperation on par with yours. You learn very quickly.

And then he's pushing you back down onto the bed, an arm supporting your back and the other holding your face. And then he pulls away, his face as flushed as yours. He's breathing heavily, averting his eyes. You stare at him, confused. Why did he stop? Did he not like it? Were you not good enough?

"Highness," he says, his voice cracking painfully. He clears his throat and tries again. "Highness, I don't know if this is the best decision..."

"Don't tell me you don't want me," you snap, suddenly feeling very hurt. "Because if you don't-"

"No!" he growls, whipping around to face you. His quick eye contact takes you by surprise, and you blush. Emotions roil behind his purple eyes. "Gog, that's not it. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It's just..." he trails off.

You open your mouth to say something, but you can't think of anything to say. The words elude you. Instead, both of you sit in silence, the air heavy with unsaid words that need to be uttered, but can't be thought of.

The door swishes open and Dualscar leaps up, adjusting his cloak. In the doorway looms the Grand Highblood, his eyes widening as he sees the other seadweller. Dualscar clears his throat and then ushers out the door, pausing at the entrance to glance towards you. He looks as if he wants to say something, but then decides not to, running out into the hallway, his ratty cloak trailing behind him.

There's an awkward silence between you and the Grand Highblood. He looms in the corner of your room, his large, lanky body taking up more space then you can believe. You've never taken the time to appreciate how fucking HUGE this troll is. You're too busy trying to make yourself look intimidating and regal, conscious as you are about your small stature. His height is quite scary.

The Grand Highblood clears his throat, and you flinch. "Majesty," he gravels, his indigo eyes staring straight through you.

"Uh, er, yes?" you manage, kicking yourself mentally. You can't believe how stupid you sound.

"There's a royal council meeting."

"Oh, for Troll Pete's sake," you growl, feeling some of the awkward tension go out of your body. The fact that there's a meeting infuriates you. Anger is a good emotion. It crowds out the other feelings. You're beginning to feel almost normal again. You crawl out of bed, dusting yourself off before heading over to your wardrobifier. With a push of the button, your bed clothes shimmer and change into your tight fitting suit, hugging your curves. Jewelry appears on your arms and ear fins, around your neck and your ankles. Your hair straightens out and becomes fluffier, life and lift added to the feathery tendrils. As soon as you're done, you turn around to the indigo blood, declaring yourself ready to be escorted.

As you walk down the long, dim hallways, the Grand Highblood begins the conversation. It used to surprise you when he did this, but now it's just kind of weird.

"Dualscar, huh?" he says. You flinch, and then flush.

"That is none of your business, but yes, I guess so." You sniff disdainfully, and then peek out at him from the corner of your eye. You need to crane your neck to look at his face, which appears troubled and annoyed. "What's it to you?"

"I just don't think that fucker is worth it," he says. "The mofo has got some serious ishes."

It takes you a few seconds to figure out what it means, and when you do, you stop dead in your tracks. It's absolutely _embarrassing _what he said to you... He's offering advice like some kind of... Like some kind of moirail! The Grand Highblood stops and turns around, his expression curious.

"Let me set this straight!" you growl. He tips his head to the side, his mouth quirked inquisitively. "I am NOT pale for you AT ALL. And frankly, I don't think you are for me, either. I don't know know what sort of sick, twisted game you're playing, _but stop it."_

"What?" he says, dumbly. His expression remains curious and open, his mouth slightly slack. Then he throws his head back and laughs, deep brays bouncing off the steel walls, reverberating in your skull. You swirl your fins in distress, backing a little from his shaking form. But before you can get too far away, his hand snakes out and grabs your arm, dominating it with its sheer size. You gasp, pulling away, but he pulls you roughly towards him, and you smash into his rock hard body.

"Let me go," you hiss, beating at him. You are careful with your strength, though. You may want to injure him enough to get away, but accidentally killing someone, especially someone as high on the hemospectrum as him, would be bad. Really bad. So you smash your fists into his chest to no avail, and he continues laughing, holding you fiercely, his hands gripping your shoulders. His chuckles die down into deep breaths, until finally he's silent, staring at you.

"You can't deny what we have," he whispers.

"And what is that?" you hiss. "This is one-sided, if it's real at all-"

"OF COURSE IT'S FUCKING REAL," he shouts. "ARE YOU CALLING ME A MOTHER FUCKING LIAR? Are you telling me that this here mouth is uttering lies unto this here pure world, breathing profanities and mysteries like some adolescent grub? BECAUSE THEN, then, I'D HAVE TO FUCKING SLAP YOU."

"Uh," you say, once again managing to sound witty. The Grand Highblood is breathing heavily, almost as heavy as the sound of your vascular system, pumping blood through your veins up to your cheeks. You struggle away from him, but he pulls you closer. You can smell him. He smells like grease paint and something cloying and sweet. And underlying the sweet smell is one that is more bitter and salty; with a sickening realization, you know it's blood.

"Ah, I see. I can see the little wigglebeast in your think pan," he whispers, his lips next to your fins. Your whole body stiffens, wondering what he's talking about. "That creeping, crawling, squirming idea, INFILTRATING YOUR BEING AND THOUGHTS. Corrupting..." he sighs softly, his breath tickling your neck and ears. You feel his thumbs rub circles on your arms, touching the armlets and trinkets, running over the jewels.

"And what is that?" you drawl, fighting to keep your voice even. He laughs again, low and seductive.

"FEAR."

You pause in your struggling. _Fear? _Ridiculous. You may be afraid of things, but you make sure to never, _ever _let anyone else see it. You keep an iron grip on it, finely controlling all the doubts and insecurities that being an Empress of a planet cannot have. Fear is unbecoming, and it can make you weak. So you laugh.

"I don't even know the meaning of that word," you hiss. "And I am beginning to tire of this." With a surge of strength you normally reserve for toting around dead Lusii, you push him away from you. A look of surprise crosses his face while he slams into a wall, and a few doors along the hallway swish open. Imperiously, you brush some hair out of your face and smirk.

"I believe you have the wrong impression of me, Indigo," you say. "I may be small, but I am _Empress, _and you will not speak to me or handle me that way. Now if you'll please do your job _properly_ and escort me to the meeting, I may spare your life from the culler."

You spin around and continue on down the hallway, feeling a bit smug over how you handled the unpredictable Highblood. But before you can take several steps, he begins laughing again, darker this time and with a hint of anger. You stop without even meaning to and turn around, nervous for what you're about to see. He's leaning forward, his hands braced on his knees. Where you smashed him into the wall is a huge dent.

"Oh, mirthful messiah," he chuckles, wiping tears away. "You misunderstand, most MIGHTY FINE _Empress_." Slowly he stands up, straightening his posture. You never realized that he slouches most of the time. You never realized how small he makes himself. You never realized that the already large Highblood is actually a giant. As he walks closer, his feet dragging across the metal floor, you feel your breath catch in your throat. "Your fear be coming from a different sort, a different branch. You are not trembling at the size or the daunt. YOU'RE BETTER THAN THAT. No. HELL TO THE NO. It's in there."

He prods your chest hard, and then splays his hand. Not quite on your breasts, but slightly above. You watch, somehow not embarrassed. It's not exactly an intimate touch. Your hearts slow down their beating.

"You're afraid of the unseen, the unknowable. The enigmatic, mysterious happenings that just can't be MOTHER FUCKING EXPLAINED." He laughs quietly, seeing your expression. You don't even know what face you're making, but a cold drop of sweat trickles down your back. You feel a sense of vertigo, as if standing before a vast, yawning pit, and your only spindling bridge is swaying, falling apart as you watch.

"I..." you start, but you can't even think of a comeback. What he said is true, so true. It's probably the most honest and truthful statement you've ever heard. Even you yourself have never dared to admit it to yourself. There's more to the fear than that, of course, but what he said hit home painfully.

"Shhh," coos the Highblood, pushing a finger to his lips. He soothingly paps your face, and, with a grudging sigh, you allow yourself to be calmed down. "'Tis alright," he says. "But that's the reason I be staying and standing right here beside you – READY TO DEFEND – and to answer. To force the answers out."

"Oh," you manage. "That's the kindest thing anyone's ever said to me."

He smiles, and then places a hand on your back, pushing you towards the council room. With a sigh, you continue on, unsure of what had just taken place. But as you push open the wide, golden doors, ornately decorated with swirling symbols and your insignia, the familiar feeling of being trapped rushes back to you.

And you sit down at your seat, silently contemplating what to do.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this one took so long. I have reasons. First: I struggled with what to write. I know what comes next, but this one was sort of filler. Second: I was in England for a month about halfway through writing this. So. Here you go. Do with it what you will. **


	9. Salvation

You gape at her.

The tall troll sighs, rolling her eyes at you. "I am giving you three minutes to take me to him."

"Hargh?" is all you can manage.

In the background, the Psiioniic has stopped his cursing and sways back and forth in the breeze, going slightly cross-eyed as the blood rushes to his head. He watches you become flustered, and even manages a chuckle before he spins the other way. He at least has the decency to squawk loudly as he runs into the tree. At the noise, the Dolorosa slips out a small white tube from among her numerous dress folds; with a crackle and the smell of burning hair, it shudders into something larger... And deadly looking. It roars into life, and she advances towards the Psiioniic, who begins waving his arms and calling to you for help.

And suddenly, he falls to the ground with a loud thump and an expletive.

The Dolorosa turns back to you again, still brandishing her strife weapon. You meet her eyes with your own, and this time you're ready.

"Follow!" you say meekly.

* * *

The purple grass whispers as you brush by it, prickly tendrils trying to claw at your clothing. You pay it no mind. Your only thought is to get to the Signless as soon as possible – and not just because the Dolorosa has her huge daunting weapon.

Now that you've finally found her, your only hope, it seems time is slipping away faster than ever.

As you jump over a clump of weeds hiding a ditch, the Psiioniic on your back gives a small mutter of complaint. Since his ungraceful reintroduction with the ground, his rib has cracked again. _Just like old times, _you think wryly. The joke, of course, being that that had happened only a week or so ago.

"Are we almost there?" The precises tones of the Dolorosa interrupt your thoughts. She has managing to keep up very well with you, considering her heavy, dragging skirts and awkward weapon. Her face shows no sign of strain, only annoyance covering concern. She's very pale, you notice. Dark rings linger beneath her large, slightly tilted eyes. Your heart softens just a little bit when you realize just how worried she must have been.

"Yes," you reply. "Not far."

The Psiioniic mutters something very rude, but you're the only one to hear. You hope. If the Dolorosa _did _hear, she chooses to ignore it.

"Well, carry on." She says. "My time _is _limited."

"Yes," you reply, and turn around to lead her again.

When you reach the campsite and see the Signless lying right where you left him, you breath a sigh of relief. The sound is echoed behind you, and you glance at the Dolorosa to see her face melting into a look of intense joy and agonizing concern. She discards her mysterious strife weapon, not even bothering to shift it into whatever it is she tucks away, and drops to her knees beside the Signless. She whispers a name, though you can't hear it, before gently easing aside his bandages. Hovering behind her, you smell the sickness and unhealthiness. You bite your lip, feeling oddly ashamed and guilty.

The Dolorosa clucks her tongue, her shoulders hunched up with either resolution or weariness – or both. You wonder how many days she must have been on the lookout. Not just for you, of course, but for pursuing authorities or other curious or hostile trolls.

You feel a tap on your shoulder. "You can let me down now," whispers the Psiioniic. You jump, having completely forgotten he was there. With a squeak, you jog a few paces away and let go of his legs. He eases off slowly, cursing and wincing. "Agh," he mutters, touching his side gingerly. "Fuck everything. Fuck _me._"

"Please refrain from doing the former," you hear. "And I very much doubt the latter is a desirable option for anyone in the general vicinity." You both glance up to the Dolorosa, and she has a strange set to her mouth. Then you realize she's smiling – or smirking, depending on how you look at it. Even though you can't really understand what she said, you gather enough to chuckle as the Psiioniic looks sheepishly away, his cheeks flushing gold. Nice and meek for a change.

The Dolorosa tuts as she sees the Signless' wounds. "Come here," she says without looking up. After looking from side to side and figuring she can't mean the Psiioniic, you jump up, tip-toeing over to her, your heart pounding just a little bit. _Calm down, _you tell yourself. _She's only one troll._

A terrifyingly strict troll, of course.

"Did you take care of his wounds?" she asks you. You can't tell what she thinks from her tone of voice, and her face is smooth and expressionless. You nod stiffly, a drop of sweat sliding down your back. She glances up at you, her jade eyes shadowed by the weak moonlight, but somehow their color manages to spring out at you. She's so beautiful, you think. Extraordinarily so. Self-consciously, you adjust your skirt and cross your arms, even more miserable and nervous than ever by her penetrating gaze.

"You did an excellent job," she tells you, and a small smile crosses her painted lips. You stare blankly back, and it takes a few moments to realize that she is complimenting you. You flush happily as she continues. "I can tell that you were in the forest. Probably somewhere up north, am I correct?" you nod. "I know those parts a little, and I also know that herbs and plants with beneficiary qualities can be difficult to distinguish from more malevolent ones. And you kept his bandages clean enough." She stands up, brushing off her skirts. When she places a hand on your shoulder, you flinch a little, but she merely continues smiling at you.

"You have done well," she says. And then she pats your head with such tenderness that you feel your heart melting just a little, while at the same time swelling up with pride and joy. Oddly enough, you're reminded of the first time you ever brought down your first kill alone. As you dragged the carcass back to your cave, tired and weary, you couldn't help but feel a small sense of success. When you reached the mouth where Pounce de Leon was waiting, you fell over, exhausted. But you heard the soft pad of cat steps, and the rough tongues of your Lusus, and the double tenor of her purrs filled your ears and your heart as you both lay there.

But another _troll_ shouldn't make you feel that way... Right? It's supposed to be disgusting and completely primal. But if it's so wrong, then _why_ does it make you so happy?

The Dolorosa returns back to the Signless' side, and she pulls out a clay jar somewhere from her robes. It's a little daunting everything she can fit in them. She doesn't even have pockets. You think. She rubs the greenish ointment over his wounds, and the Signless flinches, his shallow breathing coming out in gasps. His eyelids flicker, as if he's searching for something beneath his closed eyes. You hear the Dolorosa coo something, like a mantra, but it's too soft to be heard... It sounds like something important, though. A tug in your gut makes you desperately want to know. You drift closer, hoping to hear...

The Signless' eyes fly open.

You jump with a little hiss. Even the Dolorosa stiffens a bit. The Signless' wide, frenzied eyes travel across his caretaker's face, and for a moment there is only coldness in those impossibly red eyes of his. And then recognition dawns on his features, and a crooked smile lights up, like the moons appearing from behind the clouds.

"Porrim," he whispers.

_Porrim? _You wonder. And then you look at the Dolorosa. She's smiling tenderly, smoothing back the damp hair from his face. With a lurch in your stomach, you realize that Porrim is her _name._ Your face flushes bright green, and you stumble back a few steps. You have just come across something very private and intimate. You feel as if you shouldn't have heard that. If you were accustomed to the culture of modesty centering around nudity, your feelings would have been similar to those of a person who has just walked in on someone completely naked – or worse, pailing with someone.

"Shh, I am here," Porrim – _no, the Dolorosa! – _says. She continues to apply ointment, and the Signless sighs with relief, his eyes half-closed into red slits. Then they widen a bit, and you realize he's looking at you.

"H-hello," you mutter awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. The Dolorosa pauses her work to look at you as well, and the two set of calm, penetrating stares is making you very nervous. You wish you could just curl up into a ball, or crawl into a hole.

"Hi," he replies. You stare a bit at each other, and then he beckons you closer. "Come here," he says. You take a step, and then look at him. The Dolorosa snorts.

"She is like a wild beast," she remarks, her plump, jade lips twisting with a wry smile. The Signless wheezes out a laugh, nodding.

"Indeed. I won't bite," he adds, looking back at you. "I don't know what you're being so shy about. I just want to talk."

He looks slightly forlorn, which is enough incentive for you to quickly trot over and kneel next to him. You don't have the same fluid grace as the Dolorosa, but you are swift and quiet.

"Here," you announce. "Feel you better?"

"Not really," he confesses, wincing as Porrim adds some more strange goop to his wounds. "But at least this stuff is numbing it. My head feels just a bit clearer."

"It will not soon, I am afraid," warns the jade blood. "I need to give you some pain killing medicine before we may return back to my temporary hive."

"Soon?" the Signless groans.

"Pain killing?" you ask. Killing pain should be impossible, but if it can be done, you are interested to see how.

As if by magic – which is impossible, of course, all the Highbloods say so – Porrim reaches into her waistband, producing a cylindrical object with a sharp point. The Signless lifts a lip in disgust, flinching as she pokes him with it. You gape, wondering what on Alternia is happening.

"Dammit," growls the Signless, shutting his eyes and shuddering. "I really.. Hah.. Mphfadfayy shub rargh..." he trails off, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"That is better," the Dolorosa remarks, tucking the sharp object away. From behind you, you hear a derisive snort, and you turn to see the Psiioniic chuckling.

"That's the best thing I've seen all day!" he chortles.

"And it will not be the last, unleth you keep your flapper thut," snaps the Dolorosa, turning around to give him a sharp glare while mimicking his accent. The Psiioniic clicks his jaw shut. Then she turns to you, and you wonder with dread what it is that you've done, but she only smiles. "As for you, I wonder if you could help me put together a litter?"

You blink, not understanding the word, but you nod anyways. She beckons you closer, explaining simply what to do and what to gather. Thirty minutes later, she ties up the last branch with some dry grass and stands up.

"That was good timing," she remarks. You shrug modestly. You're pretty much a pro at gathering firewood and sticks. The Dolorosa turns back to the slumbering Signless, and with a gentle strength drags him onto the litter. Then she turns to you.

"I will not be able to carry him alone," she tells you. The unspoken request lingers in the air. Without even a glance to the Signless, you nod.

"I help."

* * *

The Dolorosa has a rather cozy hive, you think.

After carrying the Signless for what seemed about an hour or two, the Dolorosa had stopped, setting down the litter softly and motioning for you to do the same. Behind you, you could hear the Psiioniic puffing and cursing and limping, but he made it in the end. The Dolorosa slid aside some brush on the ground, and seemingly disappeared... But it was, in fact, a cleverly disguised hole. After pushing the litter through and waiting a few moments, you slid down it yourself. And when you came through, you had to admit you rather liked the underground hive.

Currently, you watch her tut over the Signless some more. She's shifted him to a table with wheels, and moved him to another room. You follow, lifting aside some curtains that block the doorway. For being underground, the earthen walls are clean, and lanterns are placed strategically in alcoves. Several rugs decorate the floor, and in one room you can hear a wardrobe humming. You've never seen one before, but supposedly they select an outfit each day for you, matching colors and everything. Somewhere, some troll is working on actually getting it to clothe you as well, but everyone just thinks that's very silly.

Porrim glances up when you pad in, and she frowns. "I believe that what I am about to do may severely alarm and upset you," she informs you. You tilt your head, pondering the words before answering.

"From wild," you reply. "Is good."

"Well, yes, I do suppose you see a lot of blood and gore out there, but none of it is purposely inflicted... Oh, I see that I am speaking too fast. Erm," she pauses, noticing your confused glance. She looks around helplessly, and then an idea seems to bloom in her head.

"Here, I need you to do me a favor," she tells you. You perk up; you desperately want to feel useful. "I need you to go into town and get me some..." she thinks for a few moments. "Some new, er, Ah! Some more lip paint and rouge. I am fresh out, I am afraid." She smiles and pats her cheek for emphasis. "You can get yourself some, if you so desire," she concludes.

After showing you where she kept the money and explaining which color she wanted, the Dolorosa shoos you from the room. You stare dumbly at the curtain for a few seconds, and then meekly walk away. You encounter the Psiioniic in the ante-dugout, but he is consumed with his portable husktop, tip-tapping away. "Go by yourself," he grumpily tells you. "I'm busy here."

Looks like you're on your own.

* * *

**A/N: Holy shit, I made an update. Real sorry about the lack of those recently. I got plenty of plans, though, have no worries! Whole storyline is pretty much mapped out. But I also have an excuse: I am in Germany! So, updates will be waaaay slower (if you haven't been able to tell)! **

**And jeegus, I had so much planned for this chapter... But I have to split it in half ufhsasjhf! Next chapter gets... Well, that would be spoiling, wouldn't it? ;) **


	10. Moirail

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] began trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 09:17!-**

**OD: hey**

**OD: you there?**

**IC: Yup. )(ere.**

**OD: ivve missed your stupid quirk**

**IC: Well, if it's so STUPID, w)(y don't you just troll salmon else, )(U)(?!**

**OD: nah**

**OD: only you interest me**

**IC: )(ow sweet.**

**OD: i do my best**

**IC: 380~ sealy Dualscar.**

**OD: yup thats me the best and only**

**OD: aaaan your only matesprit**

**IC: Don't say it like t)(at!**

**OD: like wwhat?**

**OD: matesprit?**

**IC: Yes. T)(AT.**

**OD: awwww is she gettin shy?**

**IC: NO.**

**IC: It's just...**

**IC: I don't roe...**

**OD: wweird?**

**IC: Yea)(.**

**OD: its wweird for twwo trolls wwith some of the highest ranked blood on the wwhole damn hemospectrum to be datin?**

**IC: No.**

**OD: exactly noww wwhy are you still actin so wweird**

**IC: W)(ale...**

**IC: It's just...**

**IC: It's strange t)(at someone like you would even brook at a gill like me...**

**OD: wwhat the hell is that supposed to mean**

**IC: W)(ale...**

**IC: I may be the -Empress of Alternia...**

**IC: But I'm not very pretty...**

**IC: Rig)(t?**

**OD: im givving you 3 seconds to clam up**

**OD: because that is bullshit**

**IC: You reelly t)(ink so?**

**OD: youre beautiful**

**IC: 38)**

**IC: T)(ank you!**

**OD: its only the truth**

**OD: oh hell i havve to get ready for the stupid council meeting**

**IC: O)(.**

**IC: T)(AT.**

**IC: Yea)(, I )(ave to as w)(ale.**

**IC: Sea you soon! 38)**

**OD: back atcha**

**-orphanerDualscar [OD] has stopped trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 19:30!-**

* * *

You lean away from the husktop, unable to keep a stupid smile off your face. A small bloop from your husktop lessens it a bit as you concentrate. You delete a small bubble popping up, announcing that the manufacturer of Trollian has added some new updates – something about cameras. Whatever. You drift to more pleasant thoughts of Dualscar. Since that first kiss between you two, there had been more. Secret kisses, stolen between meetings and royal nonsense, but made the sweeter because of it. He had whispered in your ear fin that you were matesprits, and your body sang with joy. You belong to someone now, and it makes you dreadfully happy.

But what makes you happiest is that he _likes_ you.

No – he likes _you._

You try to smother the grin growing wider on your face, but you can't. It's exhilarating and wonderful, to like someone and to have them like you in return. In a way, you feel more free than ever. Having a secret from the council helps, as well.

Ahhh. The council.

You honestly don't know what to do about them. They are beginning to make you feel more than trapped – you're beginning to feel a little crazy. You can't go to the ocean anymore, they tell you. Your planet needs you. Besides, you don't really _need _water to survive. What? No, of course you can't just _go out _and visit the cities and people. You could be _killed!_

And other shit like that.

But the council isn't the only thing troubling you right now. The Grand Highblood and your... _nebulous _relationship plagues you, as well. He _says _he's flushing pale for you – which is still incredibly unbelievable. The Grand Highblood as a moirail? – but you're not entirely sure. He nags you enough about your relationship with Dualscar. Well, not nagging, but the purple blooded troll gets unusually quiet when you talk of him, or look at him. Or even think of him. And when Dualscar is around, he treats him coldly and with hostility. He even manages to speak normally sometimes, just to insult him. It embarrasses the hell out of you.

Occasionally, he'll show some sort of moirail affection towards you, brushing hair out of your face, asking how you're doing or feeling, laying a hand on your shoulder when you feel ready to kill someone. Almost as if he's the regulator in the relationship, keeping you from going on the rage. It's absolutely ridiculous – if anything, _he's _the one who should be kept in check! Not _you!_

A loud pounding interrupts you. You can tell by the heavy thuds and the sound of straining metal that it's the Grand Highblood. Speak of the clown...

With a resigned sigh, you get up to open the door, shutting your husktop.

He's waiting at the door, his garish face scrubbed clean today. Not only that, but his hair has been brushed, his horns trimmed and filed to proper points, his nails cut, teeth cleaned, clothes washed. He looks almost... Handsome. You stare, a little put off. Awkwardly he shifts, looking you in the eyes.

"Don't keep a brother waiting," he mumbles.

"Erm," you say. And then, because you can't resists, you ask, "of course. Uh, to which brother am I speaking to today...?"

He stares at you, then the ceiling, and then the doorway, before carefully responding, "the kind who has been sacrilegiously made to just up and clean himself, to be all presentable like for, er, mother-fucking reasons." He tries, you can tell, to be normal as usual, but his vascular system just isn't in it.

"For what reasons?" you prod, growing curious. Something is bubbling up inside you. It may be amusement, if you knew how to recognize the emotion. You back up, sitting down on a red couch. He remains at the door, running a large hand through his neat hair.

"Erm," he says. "To make a certain sister start believing in these here truths that I just be up and uttering, to stop denying and pretending that they are something other than true, and not dirt or jokes made to stain and slander to get your dander on." He shifts to his other foot, and wanders into the room. He looks everywhere while speaking, but at the last few words looks at you.

And you look back. That feeling inside you is dancing, spinning, forcing it's way through your throat. And before you can stop yourself, you are bending over your knees, howling with laughter. Gasping, choking, pounding your fists on your legs. You accidentally kick the table in front of you, sending it flying across the room. But you don't care. You fall off the couch, wheezing. When your last giggle subsides, you see the Grand Highblood standing over you, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face.

"Glad to see that I can be your jam starter," he murmurs. "Your mirthful messaiah." It makes absolutely no sense, but you snort anyways, reveling in that feeling of abandon and freeness. You can't remember the last time you've laughed like this. It feels so... Good. Relieving.

"Alright," you say, holding your aching sides. "What do you want?"

All of a sudden he looks very thoughtful. He holds out a hand to help you up, which is no longer strange for you. Then his hand rests on your shoulder, and he looks at you somberly.

"Dualscar, miss." he mumbles, strangely formal. Bizarrely so. "Don't appreciate the mother fucker." he shifts from foot to foot again, and then blurts out, "He's all up in your jam, you be sharing secrets and whispers like a bunch of whisper beasts, like the laughsassins guild, like a mother fucking dumb troll! But what _is_ his secret? HIS MOTHER FUCKING SECRET?" He grabs you by the shoulders, looking intently into your eyes. You can only roll them. You completely trust Dualscar, and nothing your... Well, whatever the Highblood is... says can change that.

"He has none," you reply. "He tells me everything."

The Grand Highblood only looks deeper into your face, his gaze searching, looking for something. And he sighs ever so softly, his breath brushing your face. Suddenly, you realize that your are in a "situation." An electrical current seems to run between you two, and after taking in the Highbloods face, you notice that he is impeccably handsome.

But it's different from Dualscar. Where the sea dweller is all rough and rugged lines, dashing and debonair, the Highblood is elegant, smooth and graceful. His high cheekbones and haunted, deep set eyes captivate you, his long, sharp and straight nose perfectly tipped. The only mar on his perfect face is the intensity in his eyes, the slinking, barely hidden feral animal.

You reach out unconsciously, and ruffle his hair.

"I think you look very nice," you tell him. "But I do somewhat miss my old moirail."

He looks a little confused, so you mess up his nicely combed hair, mussing it back to it's original bed-head state. It's softer than you would have expected. The whole time, there is a sort of surreal feeling, like what you're doing isn't real. It _can't_ be real. You would never allow yourself a moirail. Apparently, the Highblood thinks so, too. His eyes are wide, his mouth slack with surprise. If you didn't feel so bewildered yourself, you would probably have started laughing again.

You lay a hand on his cheek, as if the softest of paps. A small noise escapes the other troll's mouth, a sort of needy noise. And then you're enveloped in his arms. Cringing, you try to push him away, startled by the sudden contact. Every instinct within you is screaming to be set free. _A trap! A trap! _The alarm goes off. And yet...

It's rather warm.

"Erm," you say eventually, a little embarrassed and treading in deep water. "There is a council meeting -"

The Highblood laughs, pulling back. A big grin covers his face. "Don't be telling me that your tickle meter is all up and ready to run and go and see THOSEmother-fucking geezers?" he asks. "It's a miracle. So many fucking miracles today."

"_No," _you snap, dislodging yourself none-too-gently from his arms. They fall limply to his side, and you find yourself rather cold again. "I just don't want to have to listen to them complain, and I don't want any privileges taken away and..." you make up more excuses as you go along, but from the darkening in the Grand Highblood's eyes, you realize he's figured it out - never, in a thousand sweeps, would you ever willingly want to go and see your imprisoners, your jailers. But there _is_ someone you want to see very much.

You just can't wait to see Dualscar again.

* * *

**A/N: Had to cut this one in half, too. Big stuff happens next time with Condesce. Oh, man, I wish I didn't have to split it! Sorry it's so short.**


	11. Encounter

The grass whispers around you as you run.

When you listen, it almost feels as if you can understand it, if only you try hard enough. Like thinking about a word or name that you had once forgotten and when trying to call it up again, forcing yourself not to think about it, but instead _feel _it.

Your old forests felt that way, but older and wiser.

As you run and listen, they seem to whisper of change.

* * *

The town looms closer in front of you. You wrinkle your nose at the smell and smoke drifting away from it. The grassland struggles to grow here, but as you draw closer the battle is lost and the ground gives way to dry earth. You frown, disliking the loose, sandy feel of dirt. You slip onto the road, stamping your feet nervously. The strange, hard black substance is here as well, unnatural against the soles of your shoes. You pass strange lopsided hives as you travel to the center, following your nose to the main market.

It's tinier than the one you saw last time, but the sheer mass of bodies surprises you again. After spending most of your time with only two other smelly, travel worn and injured trolls, the scent of new and exciting things permeate the air. It smells like adventure, it smells exotic.

It smells a little dangerous.

You shake your head, trying to see clearer and ignore the wall of smell. This time you're much better at dodging the jostling crowd of surly trolls, all uncomfortable of being so close to one another yet unable to do anything about it. Some instinct deep down, though, whispers that it is a natural feeling, of wanting to work together and to obey a single thought sent out from higher up. But closer to the surface, and much stronger, lies the mistrust and hatred born from thousands upon thousands of war-like and miserable years. And so trolls must be thrown together against their will for necessity, a peace order held in place to ensure safety. But the only reason it could have ever come to be is if somewhere, somehow, someone wanted it.

A troll stomps quite hard on your foot. You bite back a hiss and a yowl, hopping away. The stupid teal blood doesn't even bother to apologize. But neither do you demand an apology. A little instinctive niggling in the back of your mind hurriedly tells you to submit to the higher blooded troll. You follow it, biting your bottom lip and scurrying away.

You happen past a stall full of makeup paint and jewelry. You pause, searching for the right shade.

"Greetings," you say grandly. The troll with brown blood looks up meekly, dipping her head.

"And to you, magnificent olive one," she panders. You find yourself frowning again. The idea of someone trying to degrade themselves for your own sake is a little... Sickening. You may be stronger than this troll, sure, and have a longer life span, but you know stone cold that if it ever came to be a serious fight between the two of you, you would only win by exhausting out her psychic powers – whatever they were, though they probably have something to do with animals.

So you smile as politely as you can, shaking your head. "Please," you murmur. "You must not do it."

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, a beautiful burnt umber color, and she blinks, the same color of kohl-liner as her symbol. She licks her umber lips, and then smiles tentatively.

"Are you a follower?" she whispers.

You shake your head, not understanding, and she looks instantly mortified. "Please, don't tell anyone," she pleads quietly, looking left to right.

"All is okay," you say, surprised. "Please – "

"And what seems to be the problem here?" A smooth voice cuts in. The rustblood in front of you stiffens, averting her eyes on her wares. You catch some of her nerves, turning around slowly, vascular system in your protein chute.

An enormously hulking figure stands behind you, almost blocking out the moonlight. Muscles ripple underneath his suit, and white tattoos cover his skin. You can't see his eyes, but with some animal instinct you know that they are surveying you with detached distaste, like one observes an insect. You swallow and drop your own, your body tense and ready to spring away.

Just your luck. Hardly even one orbit of the moons goes by before you are in trouble with the authorities.

"Is this merchant giving you some trouble, huntress?" the indigoblood inquires politely. You swing your head up, shaking it vigorously.

"Er," you stutter. "Just... I have trouble deciding what is good!" Mentally, you smack yourself, becoming acutely aware of your grammar defects. If he notices, the blueblood doesn't say anything. Instead, he surveys the wares on the tale, asking a few questions to the amazed bronzeblood.

"What do you want?" he directs this question at you. You stare for a few seconds, unable to comprehend, and then blurt out,

"Makeup. Jade."

"Jade?" he looks at you with more interest. "Are you running an errand for your superior?" after a dumb nod from you, he continues, just a tad of an approving tone leaking into his voice. "Isn't that nice to see. I must say, in this day and age it is quite a pleasure to meet someone willing to look to the social standards and serve their superiors."

You merely gape, unable to understand what he has just said.

"I think this would look good for any Jadeblood," he states suddenly, handing a tube to you. You startle, clasping it in your sweating palms. He surveys your face for a few moments.

"T-thank you," you murmur, glancing down.

"Oh, no no." he sighs. "I do not understand where such a habit of averting a higher blooded individual's eyes." He grabs your chin, lifting it up. Wincing, you meet his gaze. Behind the dark sheen of pristine dark glasses, intense, dark blue eyes observe yours. "Meeting eyes is a sign of being STRONG," he remarks. "It is also respectful."

You swallow, feeling uncomfortable. You can almost feel his strength humming beneath his hands, as graceful and tense as a wild beast. He could snap your neck at anytime he wants to, and the feeling is disturbing to you, this undefended position puts you on edge. You, who is so used to easily being the strongest in the wild, having the ease of feeling safe at all times.

You stand frozen while he seems to ponder something. He turns away for a moment, and then comes back. "Close your eyes," he demands, but politely. You instantly obey, your vascular system still racing. When something touches your lips, something smooth but sticky, you almost yowl in surprise. He continues to touch your face with various objects, so gently you could almost imagine him without the muscles. You hear a soft breath of laughter, and then you open your eyes.

You're looking into a mirror of yourself, and you can't help but gasp. Your face is much more defined, from your green lips to your kohl lined eyes. You look almost... Civilized. Your snagged flurry of hair is patted down a bit, looking wild.

"Uh," you manage. This really wasn't what you were expecting.

"No need to thank me," he tells you. He hands a few coins over to the seller, and then looks back to you. "It was a pleasure meeting one so well behaved as you. Live long." And he walks away.

You stare after the retreating figure, slack-jawed. The rustblood behind the counter also stares, her gaze sliding back to you.

"Nice tattoos," she remarks. You flush, shaking your head. But she beckons to you. "What is an Olive blood without traditional tattoos? Come into the back, and I'll see what I can find for you."

You stumble away, examining your wrists. The green ink almost glows in the light of the same colored moon, which has reached its zenith point in the sky, leaving the bubble gum pink moon to wander by itself. You feel some small elation in your stomach.

_Is this what it feels like to be pretty? _You wonder.

Then you stop. _Who cares! _You tell yourself, walking faster. _It's not like anyone else will __notice._

Your mind wanders to the Signless, his face creasing into a well worn smile... And then you need to bonk your head. _No! It's not for him. He won't even notice._

You flush a little, trying to strain your thinkpan into another direction.

Almost immediately, a distraction arrives.

The crowd swells apart, parting like a river around a stone. You stop, unsure of what is happening. Murmurs swell and laughter erupts, shouts and boos and razzes. Sparks are flickering everywhere, and the grounds trembles as something is slammed into it. Finally, you somehow get shoved to the front of the opening and see two trolls fighting.

They're bleeding freely, gold and red blood splattering the ground. The one is a female, oddly clothed in a sort of flourescent green. The gall of wearing such a nobler blood than her own is enough to have most of the observers boo. But she takes no notice except to whip out two white needles, her eyes flaring with psychic power. One tendril reaches out and brushes your hand, and you snatch it back and suck at the burned skin. The other troll, a thick golden blood built like a tree, is holding his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he yells. "There's a treaty here-!"

The redblood's expression doesn't change. She takes one needle fizzing with power and stabs it into his other arm, laconic as blood spurts into her face, dripping on her silken dress. When she drags the sputtering rod down, energy explodes everywhere, the wail of the other psychic blasting all of the crowd over onto one another. One troll on the other side of the circle was in a direct path of the injured goldenblood's eyesight and was incinerated within seconds, his skeleton outline briefly in the red and blue beam before disappearing.

There's a moment of silence, interrupted only by the wet sounds of the stabbed troll and his weak moans, and then screams begin. Everyone is scrambling to get away, shoving and pushing and even killing to be away first. You are pushed right next to the unnaturally silent female slaughtering the other psychic. Your heart is in your throat, and you gaze up at her face. Slowly, her face turns towards you, blood cracking and flaking off. It smells _awful... _

"Stop," you demand. Or try to. It comes out more as a frightened squeak.

Her eyebrows go up, her slanted eyes narrowing. And then she smiles, her red lips expanding to reveal the most feral and pained grin you have ever seen. She laughs, dislodging her needle with a horrid squelching sound. She pins up her long, curly hair with it, blood smearing on the fine strands. Then she grabs you and lifts you up by the throat. You kick at her, but to no avail. Her skin _burns_, sweet mountains does it _hurt. _You hear the pounding of feet on the pavement, and a familiar voice...

"Halt! Let her go!"

She turns to look at the approaching blue blood that you met early in the night. Her face crunches up in some unknown emotion as you struggle in her grip. Than she turns back to look at your face.

"Wish I could," she whispers. And then there's an intense pain and flash of light, and she's gone. You fall to the ground, next to the dead troll. His face isn't as grotesque as you thought it would be. It's still and the eyes are wide, but all of the wounds are hidden from your sight. Golden blood leaks out from one red eye, like a tear. Immediately you feel nauseous, so you roll over and dry heave before flopping on your back, staring to the sky.

You lay there for a few seconds. The steps lead up to you, and you open your eyes blearily to see the Indigo blood from before. You crease your eyebrows, puzzled. His face holds an entirely different look from earlier – not polite disdain, or detached interest, but awe and just a hint of respect.

"You really are something," he remarks finally, helping you up. You wince, rubbing your neck. You give an experimental shrug, trying to slip out of his giant supporting hands. But you almost fall over. "Why did you do that?"

"Someone need to," you reply, unsure of how to explain your dislike of needless fighting, of needless killing. In the forest, one took what one needed. Nothing more and nothing less. You limp beside him, heading towards the exit of the city. You need to get into the wild, away from this horrible place.

"But it's not your job, your place..."

You growl, irritated by the rule-loving idiot. You swing around and prod him in his chest, snarling, "Where are _you _when treaty broke? I see you not helping. Now troll is dead. Who else when not me?"

He pauses, his eyebrows knitted in perplexity. He looks surprised. Then he lowers his head, rubbing his temples. Sweat glitters on his forehead as he mumbles something.

"What?" you snap, not quite catching what he said.

"I am called Darkleer," he murmurs. His eyes meet yours, and he looks confused.

"Disciple..." you answer without meaning to. Slowly, like a cloud drifting across a moon, he smiles. But there's something a little painful in it.

* * *

You make your way to the edge of town, your feet dragging slowly on the road. As you pass the largest hive, probably someplace official, you glance up at the board, almost subconsciously. Holograms of wanted troll's faces flicker in the wan moonslight. But your thoughts aren't on them. The thought of the red - Demoness is the only word you can thing of – plagues your thoughts. Who is she? What was she doing here? How –

"Where is your hive located?" Darkleer asks. You almost groan. He hasn't left your side for a minute.

"I go alone-"

You stop. You take a few steps back. Darkleer stares at you in puzzlement. You look at the board again.

On the board is a huge hologram of the Signless.

You gape at it, and your heart plummets into your feet. A cold sweat breaks out over you. Darkleer wanders over, looking at you with concern before following your gaze.

"Ah!" he says. "The mutant."

"M-mutant?" you question, hoping that your fear doesn't leak into your voice. Darkleer nods wearily.

"Indeed. He has been hounding the Empress' rule for quite some time. In fact, I'm leading the hunt for his search right now – Oh dear, are you quite alright?"

You nod, shaking in your skin.

It was more serious than you thought. They were so close already.

"You don't know anything, do you?" Darkleer asks. You shake your head. He studies your face for a few moments, frowning, and then turns back to the hologram. "Well... If you _do _find anything out, follow these directions. You'll be well rewarded."

You study the writing. You can't understand a word. How are you supposed to protect the Signless if you aren't able to read things like this – or anything?

"I can't read it..." You admit.

Darkleer glances at you in surprise, and then looks thoughtful. "Would... Would you like me to teach you?" he hesitates at each word, and then spits it out in a hurry.

You can't help but hunch your shoulders, worry running through your veins like acid. On one hand, consorting with the head of the Signless' search is dangerous, probably too dangerous. You could accidentally let something slip... And then it's all over. On the other, you could pretend to feed false information while gaining his trust. He seems to approve of you already. _And _you would be learning to read.

You pause, musing some more, and then you smile shyly.

"Yes," you whisper.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it took so long. Hmm. I don't have anything to say, really. I have the next chapter written already. Just need to proof read it. This one actually sort of got away from me and stuff I was planning on happened. Gee.**


	12. Wounded

This meeting is as dreadfully boring and suffocating as any other meeting.

Especially since Dualscar is seated _nowhere _near you. He's at least 6 chairs down, and instead of him you must suffer through this torment with a smelly purple blood, who sounds as if he ate too much gas-inducing grubfeed. _Gross. _

And on your other side sits the Grand Highblood, his stare penetrating your neck even when you're not looking.

"...And so we are very proud to announce a new feature on Trollian, commissioned at a reasonable price and within reasonable time. It allows the user to view others on the planet. The security is, of course, still a little unstable, but it should be managed within some time -"

"Yes," you say, growing annoyed. _Who cares? I know this already. _"I saw it earlier today, when I logged on."

The speaker, a violet sea dweller, looks nonplussed. Immediately, you realize your mistake. _They've found me out, _you think. _And now I won't be able to talk to Dualscar without them knowing..._ "Your Imperial Condescension," he begins, his eyes curious. "We had no idea that you were using it. You have not showed up -"

"Must be a glitch," grunts the Highblood next to you. You glance at him, and then back to everyone else. They all nod a bit, seemingly in awe that the Grand Highblood actually _spoke. _You feel the tension go out of your body, just a little bit. Finally, the violet blooded speaker turns back to his notes.

"Ah, yes," he replies. "It _is _a new system. Lots of bugs to fix. Anyways, our next item on our agenda is that our drones commissioned from his voidliness, Sir Darkleer, are almost ready..."

You zone out again, feeling a flush creep across your fins and face as you look at your hands. You can't believe yourself. You slipped up. Who the hell are you? What's happening? Empresses don't make mistakes. They must be perfect. They must be examples to their people.

A large hand squeezes yours gently, discreetly. Your head swings up, and you glare at the Grand Highblood. But he's already released it and is staring stonily at the current speaker. You may have even imagined it, but... No. You didn't imagine it.

You muffle a small, sad smile. You try to crush that tiny seed of happiness and hope inside you. You may have accepted him as a moirail in name, just to make him happy, but you _refuse _to reciprocate his feelings. You _have no feelings. _At least, you didn't. But now? The evidence begs to differ.

As the meeting draws to an end, you make up your mind.

Maybe it's ok to have feelings? And not just passion. Passion is acceptable for an Empress, both Black and Red. But who ever heard of getting all platonic? A few sweeps ago, you would have laughed at the idea of you having a solid moirail. Please. You don't need a shush-pap to calm you down, or a nice hug to make you feel better. Bitch, you are strong and beautiful, and nothing will ever get you down. But now... It sure feels nice to be warm sometimes.

"...And that concludes today's reports. Long live the Alternian Empire."

There is a general sigh, and everyone gets up, talking politely to each other and making their way towards the giant, steel doors. As they wander out, you slip out of your chair and past the knowing gaze of your... Your _moirail. _(How strange to think of him like that.) Your small feet patter against the floor, your hair flowing in what you hope is a majestic manner, and you walk up to the Orphaner Dualscar, your aquatic vascular system pounding.

"Hi," you say when you reach him. He looks up from where he is packing his things, and smiles.

"Hey," he replies. "S'good to see you."

"Yeah." You look shyly at your feet, smiling yourself. You just know it's that goofy smile you hate, but somehow you don't care right now. "Um. Want to, uh, hang out?" You look at him in which you hope is not too pleading. _Please say yes, please say yes! _

"Uh," he suddenly looks awkward. "Real sorry about that, but I can't. I have important things to do, and I can't back out, I'm really sorry – "

"Oh, no!" you interrupt, smiling widely. It's not the goofy smile any more. This one's plastered on. "That's perfectly ok! It's my fault for asking so abruptly, and I hope you have fun, bye!"

You abscond.

* * *

_I am so stupid, _you think bitterly. _So, so _stupid_! Of course he doesn't want to be with me all the time! _You rub your head, your face burning with shame.

"Mother fucker turned you down?" You hear. Without turning your head, you nod. At least someone wants to spend time with you, even if they're currently not the correct someone.

You finally face him. He still looks a bit strange without his makeup, but you're now used to it. He currently looks... Sad.

"That fucker," he whispers. "Just up and did it all like that? LIKE FUCKING THAT? He better have an inkling, a prayer, a justice..." and he explodes with rage, pounding his fist on the wall. A metal clang fills the hallway, and you wince, having forgotten the Grand Highblood's rages.

"It's fine," you snarl, grabbing his heavy arm. But he swings to look at you, and in his gaze is something you never thought you'd see:

Pity.

You gape, your mouth wide with horror. _Pity? _The nerve of it infuriates you. But at the same time, you feel scared. If the Grand Highblood knew something to move him to pity, than what on earth could it possibly _be?_

"I'm sorry," he whispers, touching your face. And then he rips his way out of your grasp and walks away as fast as he can, leaving you behind, bewildered and confused.

Nothing like Quadrants to fuck your head up. _Nothing._

You sigh, sitting down in your room. You have no idea what to do right now. Your map just infuriates you with the missing Mutant case, books won't make you feel better, your Husktop is a bottomless pit for depression and your cuttlefish in their tank have already been fed.

You fall asleep.

When you wake up, you have the distant, receding memory of a young troll with thick braids. You rather like her. But it's gone when you blearily roll off the couch. You hear a bloop come from your Husktop, and you pad over.

* * *

**-grandHighblood [GH] began trolling imperialCondescencion [IC] at 18:30!-**

**GH: whatever happens.**

**GH: WHATEVER FUCKED UP SHIT OCCURS.**

**GH: it's not your fault.**

**-grandHighblood [GH] has disconnected!-**

* * *

Weird. You shrug your shoulders, a little creeped out. And then you see the flashing button in the corner. It announces the new viewport feature. Bored, you decide why the hell not. You click on Dualscar's name.

Darkness assaults your screen.

And then you hear voices. You recognize one of them as Dualscar, but the other one is unfamiliar, female and, you decide instantly, extremely bitchy. Then the viewport adjusts, and some light spreads into your vision.

You're in some kind of cabin. Archaic lights line the interior, fashioned into lantern shapes. But their dull, even glow reveals them to be grublight. A writing desk and a recuperacoon under some wispy curtains take up most of the room, which ends in a set of windows looking over the night sea. Exotic rugs cover the floor, and silk clothes and jewelry are carelessly tossed over the backs of chairs and on the floor.

Dualscar holds his gun in his hand, and opposite to him stands the owner of the mysterious voice.

Jealousy instantly hits you. She is lithe and skinny, her form hugged tightly by her dashing coat and skirt, her red boots glowing in the dim light. And while she isn't exactly pretty in the face, she is striking and startling. Her face is thin with high cheekbones, her eyes large and glittering. Her nose is like a blade, curving fiercely out of her face. By all means, she should be ugly, but there is something so... _Alive _about her. She sings out health and charisma and life.

"So you come running back to me, whining and screaming like the grub you are?" She sneers, tucking away a white object. Dualscar bristles, pointing his gun towards her.

"Mindfang," he snarls. "I'm warning you – "

Her jeering laughter cuts him off, and she hops onto the desk, crossing her thin legs. "Warning _me? _On my _own _ship? Oh, please. Really, Dualscar, you ought to know better."

Dualscar hisses, and, with a glance at his gun, tosses it aside.

"Tell me what you _really _came for," Mindfang whispers. "Do you want your pathetic future told? Or you are sick and tired of your little red-rom fling already?" Dualscar snarls again, and he takes a step towards her, as if each word is a rope pulling him closer. "I _know! _Poor you. Snotty wimps like her are the worst." Another snarl from Dualscar, but he's still walking closer. "Do you know what you _really _need?" she continues, and she stands up, shrugging out of her jacket. It falls to the floor, leaving her in her skirt and undershirt. Dualscar sighs, a surprisingly soft sound in the tension.

"You need a _real _troll," Mindfang drawls, and she lays her hands on Dualscar's shoulders. He shudders at her touch. "Someone to teach you some... Lessons."

"And who..." mutters Dualscar, sounding as if he is overcoming some great battle. "Would you suggest?" He pushes at her, as if to escape, but as soon as his hands touch her, they wrap around her hips, squeezing. He pulls her close, burrowing his head in her neck, moaning softly.

Mindfang chuckles softly. "Someone like me," she whispers. And, digging her nails into Dualscar's arms, she kisses him passionately. She bites his lips, drawing blood. He squeezes her hips until bruises blossom beneath the skin, like the angriest of flowers.

You feel nothing. You are nothing. You can't do anything but watch helplessly as they merge into one being on your screen, as they kiss and snarl. Dualscar throws a breathlessly laughing Mindfang onto the top of the desk, sweeping all of the ink and quills and maps to the floor with on arm, covering her mouth with his hands that you know to be calloused and a gruff command to be silent. She bites his fleshy fingers, and while he curses, slides up her skirt. Her shirt has already been thrown off, revealing skinny ribs and a scarred, muscled stomach. Dualscar stares lustily, and then kisses each bony protusion, from her ribs to her collarbone.

_I don't want to see this, _you think. _I don't want to know this._

"Say my name," gasps Mindfang, amid the harsh growls and noises. Dualscar snarls, but manages a soft sound. "_Louder," _she demands.

"Aranea," he manages, before holding her to him tightly. Mindfang pushes him away, rolling over on top of him.

"Dear, _sweetest_, Kronus," she says, sounding completely in control of her emotions. "Am I the most important?" Dualscar gasps as she digs her claws into his sides, closing his eyes. He breathes, _"Yes," _and she sighs with him, violet blood dripping off her face. And then she looks at you, smiling, sweat trickling beside the blue and violet blood, rolling down the side of her face. Her left eye is fractured into several pupils. _Vision eight-fold. _Her hair sticks to her beautiful yet ugly face, and as she moans, she laughs as well.

"You have soooooooo fucked shit up, Ampora," she laughs.

And then your screen goes black with a little pop.

You gasp a little, staring at the blank screen. Then, as if mechanically, you look over to where your husktop connects to the wall. The Highblood stands there with the plug in his hand, his face dark and dangerous. You notice, some casually, that he has his makeup smeared across his face again, his hair as untamed as always. The familiarity of it all makes your chest tighten... Or was it already like that? As soon as you meet his eyes, he frowns, striding over to you and enveloping you in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he growls. "I will put that fucker DOWN, give him the shit he deserves – "

"Haha," you say. "Ha... What are you talking about?"

"You didn't have to get that on your mind, you didn't have to go and see their wicked jams happenin..." the Grand Highblood whispers. You push away, chuckles still escaping you.

"There's nothing wrong with it," you reply reasonably. "She's merely a... A... A kismesis. Everyone has one of those – " you choke up.

_Am I the most important? _You hear. You see her looking into your eyes again, that triumphant smile. _More important than _her?

_Yes._

You hear somebody laughing. Or maybe they're screaming. Or crying. Maybe all three. Then you realize it's you. You close your mouth, but horrible squeals and choking sounds continue. Your cheeks are wet. Inside the Highblood's arms, you wriggle like a fish, digging your nails into his arms and drawing blood, your hair flying into his face. You kick, and your foot catches a table, sending it flying into a wall, much like you had earlier. It crashes and shatters apart, leaving a large dent in the steel.

"CALM YOUR SHIT_," _you hear, but you scream more. You clamp down on his forearm, biting your fish-fangs into his arm until you taste blood. Even then, you don't stop. But your moirail is immune to pain. You squirm still, kicking, flailing.

"_I can't believe him," _you yell. It hurts you throat, but the physical pain is something to hold onto in this maelstrom of rage and hurt. "_How dare he?! I am the Empress!"_

The Highblood says nothing, but he squeezes tighter. A sob forces its way out of throat.

_Say my name._

He knew her _name_. And she knew his. _Kronus. _You try it out in your head. A few hours ago, that name would have made you extremely happy. Now, it rips shreds of agony into you.

_Tired of your fling? _Fling. You are his _fling. _He never cared about you. You were only _interesting._ The Empress of the planet. My, what a conquest you must have made! Something to boast about to his kismesis, to intimidate and frighten her, to turn her on more.

You stop struggling, laying limply in the Highblood's arms. Cautiously, he lets you go. You flop to the floor, curling up into a ball as soon as your feet touch the ground. You're not even sobbing anymore. The tears run down your face, burning like acid. You sniff, trying to wipe them away. You don't move away when the Grand Highblood rubs your back, brushing away your tears. Instead, you play the scene over and over in your head, admonishing yourself for being so incredibly stupid, so naive.

Why does it have to hurt so much?

"It's not your fault," you hear. You stiffen at the words, and for a second, you feel something other than shame and agony. You feel anger. You immediately latch on and hold tight.

"You knew," you growl, pushing away large hands. You see them hesitate, and then fall limply.

"Yes."

"You _knew." _You look at him now, and you see him looking apologetic, but not at all ashamed. This makes you angrier. That's good. Anger doesn't hurt so much. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He pauses, and you can tell he doesn't quite know where to tread. "Didn't know that you was all up and ready to know," he mumbles. And then, for good measure, he adds a "Miss."

"He is my – " you stop, then correct yourself. "_Was _my matesprit! I deserve to at least _know_ his _Kismesis_!"

"..." he mumbles some more. You strain your ear fins, but can't hear.

"I beg your pardon?" you snarl.

"Not when your matesprit be all cozying with a motherfucking BITCHTIT!" he shouts. "Not when he be exclaiming untruths, blasphemous sacrileges. And that's just WRONG." He growls at this, running a hand through his shaggy, wild hair. "That mother fucker is ASS HAT BACKWARDS!" He practically roars this at you, and you jab your finger at him, feeling the all-consuming fury.

"Yeah, well – " you stop, think, and then repeat what he has just said in your head. And somehow, somewhere, a giggle bursts out of you. It's not a healthy giggle, or a natural one, but it's mirth none the less. You fall to the ground on all fours, choking. And then you collapse on your stomach, just breathing in and out. You feel empty. And you feel terribly full.

"Thank you," you murmur. A hand that has no right to be so gentle touches your head, stroking your hair. You close your eyes, willing yourself to feel better already. Wishing that this empty hole in your chest, ringed by cold pain, would just disappear.

"Anything for my most favorite Emperecita," a whisper sounds out.

You sigh, and fall into a blissfully calm sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Hmmmmmm.**


End file.
